


Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Shadowed Suspicion Volume VII

by arcanedreamer



Series: Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Shadowed Suspicion [7]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: (aka typical Cheese Man behavior), Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captain Beefheart says no to Hydra Cap, Crossover, Gen, I will spend way too much time on the tags trying to get it to a point where they hopefully, Spoilers, contain no typos and are clear enough, specifically the stuff with uncomfortable implications with Anne (the stowaway), surprise appearance by the Cheese Man, warning: chapter 12 contains a reference to the Strength episode of SDC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 22,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanedreamer/pseuds/arcanedreamer
Summary: Buffy the Vampire Slayer is the story of the Slayer. In the words of Giles, "Into every generation is born a chosen one... she alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer." People like Giles were the Watchers, the English mentors of the Slayers. At least...that was the story.Buffy found a way to unlock the sleeping power within all Potential future Slayers, and now the Slayers are many. Those who survived the last battle helped to form the next Watcher's Council.Investigation of a certain stone mask sparks inquiries into the history of the ancient vampire relic, and some surprise discoveries are made along the way, including that of another legendary line of vampire hunters.While separate, Buffy, Josephine, and the remnants of the New Watcher's Council and Xander, Fitz, and his band of misfits have both been attacked by Stand Users from Wolfram & Hart, and there's the possibility Wesley is aiming to complete an Ascension ritual. Fitz discovered evidence his father might have been involved, and there's still the unresolved matter of the murderer who killed Darling's adopted family...
Series: Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Shadowed Suspicion [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/191138





	1. Gift of Death and Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: Buffy might not quite be on “watch a few moves and memorize it” Kiryu and Majima but she is pretty close. Like, she put a single point less in the skill than those two.
> 
> Hey, I didn't forget how to add a new work this time! Thanks for the new kudos (KhonoJeya114, Potatolight, hit_that_target, MysteryMuse, phantomWanderer, Chromascuro_523, Prettythinker), comments (Thrawn, MysteryMuse), bookmarks (KhonoJeya114, BlackRiverWolf, MysteryMuse, Poosaard2, NotevenThinking, Lemon_but_I_am_a_planet_called_Mars), all the lovely people who subscribed, everyone I thanked last time (Interlude: Devil Deeds in Volume V), and anyone I might have missed. Thanks again to Beta-senpai who didn't realize he was signing up for the long haul but is completely on board with it. Thanks as always to the Sunnydale Herald, anyone who reads and just lurks, the guest kudos, and anyone who comes in and does something awesome (comment, kudos, subscription) after the fact.  
> This would probably also be an awesome time to mention that I have a Dreamwidth and I'm not afraid to use it, by which I mean there are some extras on there like a Mother's Day fic for Josephine. Link to the Shadowed Suspicion masterpost here: https://madimpossibledreamer.dreamwidth.org/512550.html. Everything will be ported eventually, but I'm waiting as a weird motivation to keep going and actually finish this series first. Yeah, I dunno, my brain is weird. And, of course, all you lovely viewers help too!  
> ~Dreamer~

“Hey, I thought you said no brooding was allowed,” Buffy teases softly, elbowing Josephine in the side, and she starts and then laughs. No matter how tempted she was, Buffy didn’t _actually_ drop any eaves, just went and returned her borrowed item to the nice sailor demon and accepted a single drink and the toast to her, the Slayer of the Siphon (it’s weird, but she thinks they’re not the only demons that are going to be singing her praises which will be even more weird and awkward). No matter how easy it would be with Slayer healing.

But from Josephine’s uncharacteristically subdued mood, she guesses something went wrong. And she’s not going to interrogate, at least not directly, but she’s totally going to bug Xander’s mom until something comes out. “Yeah, yeah, okay, I’m not one of those ‘do as I say and not as I do’ moms. Though I’m more…worried than angsting.” The width of three heartbeats, and Josephine exhales slowly. “Hell. I’m a mom.”

Buffy raises an eyebrow. “Uh. Yes?”

“I think I was maybe a little in shock? I mean, how would you feel if you suddenly woke up twenty years later except it’s also in the past and you suddenly had a grown kid your age before you woke up? Honestly, I think I’m handling it pretty well.” She still seems in shock. And also older. But she seems like she’s doing better. She’d just been ignoring reality because pretending it didn’t exist would make it go away. Hmm. Maybe that’s where Xander gets it from.

“I mean, I learned that apparently my sister wasn’t actually my sister only she was, and she definitely didn’t exist for my entire childhood, and I made her feel…” Buffy swallows, trying to find the right word. “Unwanted. Except that’s totally an understatement that we’re not gonna talk about. So, for the record, for things that are entirely not your fault, Xander’s easy to please. Or Johan. Whatever you wanna call him. He’s like a little puppy. Be a little nice to him and next thing you know he’ll be doing tricks for your attention.” She wouldn’t dare say any of this except she can feel there’s nobody too close, as much space as they can get in the secondary headquarters that Buffy’s half convinced was supposed to be a nuclear bunker or something. Not just Slayer senses. She can feel the _life_ all around, pinpointed to bright sparks of what feels like light. She’s not sure she wants to know what the First Slayer would say about the gift of the Slayer suddenly being the gift of Death _and_ Life.

From that look, Josephine knows exactly what she’s doing, but she lets it slide. “You said it. He’s a total show-off.”

The present tense, at least, says it’s not as bad as it could be. Buffy snorts. “What’s he done now?”

The redhead shrugs. “You’ve probably noticed the eldritch abominations beyond B3’s gates.”

It strikes Buffy that this casual tone should not sound normal. Maybe she never really had a chance at normal, if normal left her so confused and bored. “Yeah, so?”

“So, Xander decided that the best thing to do would be to become an eldritch abomination himself, during the whole thing with the statues.” She fidgets slightly.

Nope, that’s not really surprising either. The only thing that is surprising, really, is: “Uh. How?”

“Along with hamon and dreamwalking, his Stand also copies powers. Like giant eldritch statues.” Yeah. She doesn’t do much more than blink at that. Maybe she’s getting a little jaded about all the bizarre things that happen in her life. Worse, she half feels like she _missed_ it, because things have been odd since they left the Hellmouths. Cleveland had been closed but at least they had the occasional near-apocalypse and hauntings and UFO sightings. How do people live normal lives? Going to shop without running into a vampire or two or some demon spouting threats is _weird_ and antsy-making.

“Huh.” She’s _definitely_ going to tease him about that later. He will never live it down. “It’s dealt with, though, right?”

“I mean, he nearly got stuck or died. I’m not sure, and it’s not like he’s going to tell me. He’s getting used to the glorious burden and terrible privilege of being a Joestar, and I’m not sure whether to be really proud or freak out.” Fair enough…but also if they got upset about every single little near-death experience in their lives, they’d probably never not freak out again.

“I mean, you could multitask?” the Slayer suggests, and Mrs. (Miss? Did they miss a divorce in there somewhere?) Joestar smiles. That smile is also familiar. Emphasis on the famili.

“Yeah, probably. I am pretty good at that. And I’m still trying to figure out how to mourn a friend, so…you know how that goes.” Buffy w-i-s-h-e-s she didn’t. Also, Buffy should stop thinking about Buffy in the third person.

“We’re doing a whole lot of that. Also repressing. Though the Ripple thing will come in real handy stopping any more of that from happening. In the near future, anyway.” She’s taking to it like a duck to water, and it would’ve been really nice to have it back when she was in high school. Then again, maybe not having it back then is exactly what stopped her from making Severin’s mistake. Not the one that has to do with him becoming a Big Bad, the one where he relied too much on his power and not enough on being flexible in a fight.

“You know it doesn’t make you immortal, right?” Josephine actually looks worried about that.

“The Siphon wasn’t. What makes you think I’d make that mistake?” She shrugs. “It’s just like jiu jitsu and aikido. It’s a martial art, which means training. I’m a quick study, but not everyone is.” She’d had to remind everyone in her quick call to all active Watchers, because there are still fewer Watchers and therefore fewer calls to make. Her call to Dawn (she’s still annoyed her little sis went around her back to become a Watcher, though it’s not like she doesn’t get it, what with the whole protective older sister thing that she has no idea who that could possibly be) was pretty representative of how the rest of them went. 

_“No, it doesn’t make you invincible. Kung Fu Master and Student alike still need to breathe. Tell your Slayers not to get cocky.”_

_“Andrew has his work cut out for him.”_

_“I’m still mad. I mean, it’s post-Keyboot, but the Watchers knew about this handy little martial art called Sendo and didn’t bother to see if any of their Slayers could use it.”_

_“…Did you just shorten ‘Key reboot’?”_

_“It’s catchier, isn’t it?”_

_“Bye, Buffy.” She can hear the amusement in Dawn’s voice right before the dial tone._

“You realize I never formally learned this stuff, right?” Miss Joestar complains, but she holds out a hand to pull Buffy to her feet. “Okay, first things first, you know the importance of breath, right?”


	2. Taking Inventory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johan and the gang of the odd volumes (for now) meet back up in the aftermath of the statues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Josuke didn’t pass along that he and Kaulitz fought. Johan’s going to figure that out at some point.

Fitz doesn’t realize he’s been…well, not quite holding his breath, but definitely not breathing deeply, until he sees Jojo, bundled up. He’s eating junk food again, but at this point Fitz half expects that. Jojo could still be wounded, of course, but Lotus Juice can help out with that if necessary. He’d convinced himself Johan was fine, but that had just been to calm his nerves. He hadn’t fully believed it, been holding onto the hope but cynical enough to think he was lying to himself. The smile and wave is tired but genuine, and it’s a balm, after learning his father—no, Sarde—is involved, and probably part of his anxiety is just…the man abandoned them and then his mother died. To some extent, he blames Sarde for her death—perhaps rightfully, if he was plotting to kill Love, if he’d had a hand in her terrorizing London.

“You were right about the plane.” Well, at least Johan’s alive, even if he is being excessively cheerful about this whole thing. Despite how exhausted he looks.

“You crashed?” He swallows. Jojo probably wouldn’t be this cheerful if he’d gotten hurt…but then again, he’s just the sort who would hide an injury not to worry anyone. “I want to call you reckless and say something like ‘I told you so’, but I don’t feel now is an appropriate time.”

Jojo yawns, looking content. “That’s surprisingly restrained of you. Well, I was right about it, too. I’m alive, obviously.” He’s still far too joyful about the whole thing.

He winces a little as Darling throws herself into a desperate hug. She’d been worried too, and unless Fitz misses his mark that’s an expression of pain quickly hidden behind yet another smile. He fluffs her hair, and Robin calls her over to join in the conversation with Captain Beefheart, probably so that Fitz can interrogate Jojo and get the story out of him. The archer’s a sharp one.

It takes Jojo a moment to return his attention to Fitz’s face. He’s running his eyes expertly over Darling and Robin—checking for wounds, the blond realizes once his friend relaxes and returns his attention back to Fitz. There’s that open heart again.

He crosses his arms and tries to look stern. His friend isn’t intimidated at all. “You’re a menace.”

“Yep.” Johan takes a moment to look him over. “Nice haircut.”

He’d forgotten how _aggravating_ Jojo can be. “You can go back to being silent now.”

The chuckle says he’s not taking this seriously at all. “But what fun would that be?”

“The point isn’t _fun_.” He pauses and sighs. “Are you hurt?”

Jojo finishes the rest of his snack before speaking for once. Which leads Fitz to suspect stalling. “Physically, I’ve healed mostly everything. Mentally, I’m probably a little scarred.”

All he does is raise an eyebrow in response. “What does ‘mostly’ entail?”

“You’re not going to give up on this, are you?” The tone is amused, but there’s an undertone he doesn’t quite recognize.

“I could ask Von Stroheim.” He’d seen the slightly shaken look and isn’t quite sure what that’s about, but if he digs hard enough he might get it.

“You could, but she wasn’t there for half of that, just on radio. The whole office-slash-elevator escape was all me.” Jojo sighs, but starts listing things off. It might as well be a grocery list, for all the emotion he puts into the voice. “Pretender hurt his legs paper planing me and then in the elevator shaft. Oxygen deprivation because old-fashioned plane. The altitude wasn’t high enough that I needed the oxygen tank, but it still contributed to the whole headache thing. I already healed all the glass cuts from breaking through a window. Kinda aggravated the hands and I got a chunk taken out of my shoulder, again, which I was finally getting healed with hamon, and it’s worse because these are my new clothes and I _liked_ them. Slight ear damage from Cthulhu screaming, but it at least didn’t rupture anything, because I can still hear. Eldritch abomination exposure. Becoming an Eldritch abomination. Punching myself out with Pretender before I ate the world.” The thoughtful look suggests he’s using the silence to double check whether he’s missed anything.

Fitz blinks, trying to wrap his brain around all of that. The worst part is probably the tone, like that’s a perfectly normal day at the office. Like being in pain…either he’s understated how bad Sunnydale was, or…

He swallows.

How good he is at dealing with Darling. Fitz doesn’t want to finish the thought, doesn’t want to even think about it again. He will, probably, but this isn’t the time for horrifying realizations.

“As useful as books are, I don’t think they have one for ‘what to do when your best friend turns into a Lovecraftian horror’.” That smile is utterly human.

“Nah, I’d like to think I’m _special._ ” He does, too, but as amused as he is by the thought, the mention of mental scarring. He can’t imagine what something like that would do to a psyche. And on that point—mirroring any Stand has to have some sort of lingering effect, and he hadn’t even considered that. Before he can gather his thoughts and come to some sort of conclusion about an acceptable path to take, one that his friend won’t reject out of pride, the man’s talking again. “So, uh.” Jojo swallows and looks vulnerable. Not to the extent he had when he’d been affected by Whisper, but still. He doesn’t let it show, really. “I’m guessing the haircut wasn’t your choice, given how bad it looks. But, uh, at least you wear a lot of hats?”

 _That’s dorky American for ‘are you all right?’_ , Fitz realizes.

“Generally exhausted, but then, I think that could be said of all of us here. A little healing here and there, but I certainly didn’t have the, how should we put it, _adventure_ you had.” Relief. Admittedly, Fitz is also happy he’s not wounded, but he’s not okay with the assumption it’s all fine as long as Johan’s the only one hurt. He matters more than he realizes. “We did find the User, though. She committed suicide.”

Jojo sighs. “Well, that sucks. But hey, it wasn’t Beefheart’s uncle. Apparently Josuke found him, safe and sound.” He makes a face. “Grandpa. _Sofu_? …Eh, I’ll ask him what he wants to be called. It’s just now hitting me Josuke’s my grandfather.”

The blond smiles. “I’d say I’m surprised, but—” This time he expects the light shove and moves with the hit. “Speaking of family, mine’s turned up again.” They can’t stay here forever, after all.

Instantly Jojo looks concerned. He very well might have been just goofing off during the story, but he’d paid attention after all. Fitz feels his heart warm. “Can I have an actual gold star if I observe that turning up now of all the times is not of the good?”

He could get used to this. It had been a while since he’d allowed himself the connection of friendship. He’s not going to voice that out loud so he can hear Johan’s mocking ‘that explains things’ response, however. “This time, I’d consider that genre savviness—or paranoia, if this turns out to be nothing. Apparently he bought a statue from Miss Love. It may be nothing, but…” 

Jojo reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, and he wasn’t kidding about the wounds. The grip is much weaker than his usual, but the sentiment is there. “I’ll be by your side every step of the way. The others, too, assuming they don’t have an assignment or something. And we’ll find the one who killed Darling’s adopted family, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the post-election panic attacks were minimal and that everyone has the requisite amount of (insert dessert of your choice)


	3. Our Intellectual Gambits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pause to catch one's breath, reflect, and plan.

Perhaps Johan has a point about the food, though Fitz will never admit it out loud. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he was until his friend shoved an energy bar into his hands. He might’ve refused to eat it, but feared (probably correctly, knowing Xander) that the next step was a forced feeding, which would just be humiliating, particularly with so many witnesses. One bite and he knew that despite the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach at the adrenaline crash, he did require food, though he measures his pace rather than scarfing it all down at Jojo’s pace so as not to make himself sick. They’re all snacking on junk food and fighting the urge to just slump over in their chairs. The Earl Grey’s helping, though it’s got a touch more cream than he prefers. Xander stirred a somewhat appalling number of sugar cubes _and_ cream and started giggling a little punch-drunk at the face Fitz made. The thought occurs that he very possibly might be being cheeky, which is a thought he’ll examine later when he actually _can_ think. He feels odd without his hat. Robin barely bats an eye at Johan’s ridiculous nickname of Hood as he insists that they, after they make a plan, get at least a couple hours rest before they just run off into the next possible Stand surprise. As annoying as it is to have to wait, Fitz sees the practicality of such measures. They will uncover nothing and no one if they’re too dead to investigate.

Also, Johan has the most energy, despite probably having been the most hurt, before healing was factored into play (though Darling’s still favoring her own arm, even if it had been healed). Perhaps he has a generally annoyingly perky personality, but Fitz personally suspects a combination of sugar, possibly yet more caffeine, and at least a little more sleep than the rest of them are operating on. Lucky bastard. Though the blond doesn’t envy him the crash that’s coming, sooner or later. He’s even tapping his foot annoyingly, but then, without some sort of outlet he might just float away, Panzermensch or no. “So, a delivery to a theatre. I’m going to go with he’s probably not living there. Could he be working there, maybe?”

Fitz finds himself embarrassed to say he has absolutely no clue of what Sarde did, other than work for the Speedwagon Foundation. From Mercia’s stories, he hadn’t always worked for them, but she never mentioned it, and it’s entirely possible she didn’t even know. Of course, it’s his bastard of a father’s fault, rather than his own, or his mother’s, but still, it’s awkward, to have someone else expecting him to know something about his father that he most certainly doesn’t and never would. “If he is, I would expect that to be a ploy, rather than any earnest effort on his part. I don’t even know what he’d want with a statue.”

“I’ll cover the obvious, just so we can say we talked about it: People buy statues, even from possibly homicidal Stand Users. It doesn’t _have_ to be a thing. It’s probably a thing, but doesn’t _have_ to be,” Robin adds.

“Coincidence doesn’t happen as much as I’d like,” Jojo agrees. “Like, it’d be cool if the stars aligning had _nothing_ to do with thousand-year old eldritch prophecies, but I…huh.” He pauses. “I actually can’t think of a single time that a coincidence _hasn’t_ turned out to be a plot we just don’t understand yet.”

“I worry about you.” Fitz hadn’t _meant_ to say that aloud, even if the sarcastic tone was kind of on point, but by the way Johan grins and ducks his head, pleased and embarrassed, he hasn’t heard that nearly enough, particularly if it turned out that he had in no way been exaggerating anything about Sunnydale or the rest of his life.

Fitz forces down the reckless, burning rage that had led to his ill-planned rescue-slash-kidnap attempt in the first place and vows to spoil his friend a little. Or maybe complain less about things like Jojo’s eating manners—

Hmm. That jacket had been torn in the shoulder, and despite how he joked about it, the destruction was bothering him…Food for thought. Later. When he’s not liable to outright collapse in the middle of the store.

“What if he’s a patron?” Darling asks brightly, and—there’s a thought. “It’d be a great way to get access, right?”

Captain Beefheart is probably the second least exhausted of them, more tired from the use of her Stand than physical exertion. She had been using a glider, but if the ease she showed when they first met was any indication, that required little to no effort on her part. “If he’s as bad as you say, it could have been an excuse to keep an eye on the artist, and whoever received the statue as a gift. After all, he could have her bring it to life if the one who received the statue acted in a way he didn’t like. Even if Love couldn’t control it, the statues didn’t seem to be friendly, so it’d still be a useful threat.” They’d certainly attacked enough civilians, true.

“But there’s also something else. You think he has anything to do with Wolfram & Hart? Or the Shark Tank murder?” Fitz’s first instinct is to protest. That’s a ridiculous name, and anyway, it’s unlikely Robert died in the tank, considering his corpse wasn’t half eaten. His second is to agree immediately. After all, everything that went wrong in his life is his fault…

But despite his words, Johan’s actually serious. He’s thinking, putting in the effort. But then, that’s pretty typical, isn’t it? A shallow exterior hiding depths within, because for whatever reason Xander doesn’t like anyone seeing that. “I only know about what Mother told me about him, and even then, I believe she sanitized the stories, or rather, her mind did so. I don’t know much about him.”

Johan closes his eyes and opens them again. “Well, _my_ Mom definitely didn’t trust him. And Jotaro thought of him as a ‘necessary evil’, since he allowed for the possibility of ‘death of personality’ing the worst of the worst, rather than killing them. Though he was kinda skeptical that it actually worked. Came to the same conclusion as the episode, actually.” Darling blinks and yawns, and he pats her arm. “It’s TV, never mind. Basically, he wasn’t sure how permanent it was, or how much it could actually change the possibility.”

“I suppose we could compare it to your mother,” Fitz suggests.

“Urgh, yeah, I _might_ be able to access those memories, but…” And from the way he blanches, he’s thought of something worse. “There’s a step worse than walking in on your parents.”

Darling shudders, and Fitz frowns. He’d never bothered to ask. Oddly, it felt more private than most Stand powers, which is ridiculous, given their connection to the soul. “You…can control it, can’t you?”

“Pretender does it. I don’t exactly control him in the Colour and the Shape, but. I can ask.” He relaxes slightly as something else occurs to him. “It’s less likely, since I probably wouldn’t learn anything necessary from that. Thanks, Fitz.”

“Well, at least we know about the statue. We can follow that lead. We should definitely be prepared in case he tries to use Incognito.” Robin’s practical. Fitz can see why he’d been chosen as supply sergeant. “The Speedwagon Foundation said that the Stamping process takes a little while, so we should be able to interrupt it. We shouldn’t split up at all, just in case.”

The blond can’t hold back the yawn. “We can figure out a more concrete approach when I’m not struggling to string words together.”

Johan pats him on the arm and seemingly falls asleep there in the chair. At least he’s bundled in far too many blankets. Fitz staggers upright and makes it to one of the cots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> St. Giles Circus is a thing (close to the theatre in question) and Xander finds it hilarious and would like to nominate it for yet another title for the Scoobies.


	4. Nails in the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team encounters another complication.

When Johan wakes him, he looks worried. It’s too early for worries, too early for anything. Fitz wants nothing more than to bury back into the warmth, soak it up like a purring cat, but Jojo’s his friend. His responsibility since he made the utterly reckless decision to try to ‘rescue’ the man.

He’d been falling back into bad habits. It’s no wonder Xander had reacted so strongly.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers, seeing Darling still asleep up on a different cot, curled up in a foetal position with Whisper seeking her warmth like a normal snake.

“Police,” Johan whispers back, tense, and _that_ wakes Fitz up, memories of days when that was the worst word in the world chasing each other around his brain. He quickly pushes off the covers and follows Jojo to a table where an actual English breakfast is waiting, steaming even.

“Luckily you’re not the only one with _supply connections_ ,” Jojo teases, quickly chewing the bacon he pops in his mouth. He’s still being quiet—a change, and almost a welcome one, if not for the tense way he’s holding himself.

“You’re not looking to replace me, are you?” It’s meant to be a joke, but it doesn’t quite come out that way ( _everyone else does, why not you_ ). 

Johan glances over with eyes that are too understanding and shakes his head. “Never.” He sighs, and Fitz is reminded of his growing certainty that misdirection and deflection is Xander’s stock in trade. He’d been psyching himself up for this conversation by goofing off, and Fitz didn’t play along. He feels a pang of guilt, but pushes that aside.

He might as well continue down that path even as Jojo swallows a mouthful of toast. No matter how nervous it makes him, revealing his past. “Well, I essentially signed up for this, even if I didn’t understand where it would lead. Despite my own record.”

Johan coughs a little but recovers quickly, raising an eyebrow. “That, uh. That isn’t what I was expecting at _all_.” To his credit, he doesn’t try to belittle the trust or make a joke about it, no matter how awkward he looks. “Well, I guess, it’s not like I’m not right there alongside you. Although for all I know, nobody knows.”

It’s Fitz’s turn to look shocked, and Jojo grins, more serious than amused. “The cops, uh, weren’t exactly that helpful in Sunnydale. It’s an open question whether they were bribed and/or working for the demon Mayor and/or just as affected by Sunnydale Nothing to See Here, Move Along syndrome as everyone else. My money’s on all three. They were definitely happy enough to go after Buffy with little-to-zero evidence. If I don’t have anything anymore, it’s more likely because all the records went down with the township, though I guess Giles might’ve done something and not told me about it. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s done that lately.” None of it sounds real, but if it _was_ …

It probably is. When things are serious, Johan turns to humor. And, really, Fitz has already questioned things far more than is warranted. He’s heard far more bizarre things from his mother’s tales. It’s only the fact that he grew up with them as mere _stories_ that leads him to treat the situation as recklessly as he has been. This is real, not a fantasy. He’s not the only one with knowledge here; Jojo’s power leads him to catch up quickly. He needs to start taking this all seriously.

Speaking of the tendency for humor, Johan plops a hat down on Fitz’s head, and he tries not to fidget as he realizes it’s actually one of his own. From the bookstore, even.

“Courtesy of Robin. You just missed them. I think I hit it on the nose with the whole Robin Hood thing. Guy’s pretty resourceful. The cops only kind of tried to go after me, and this is me, I’ve perfected the art of the escape, alongside running and being thrown into things. Like learning judo, actually. The Captain and her Supply Sergeant are out doing scouting, trying to figure out why they’d be after me. The good thing is, they didn’t seem trigger-happy, just like they really, really wanted to talk to me, which usually leads to attempted wrongful arrest in Sunnydale and _might_ not here. Then again, British coppers don’t carry guns, do they?” Jojo accidentally taking on the ghost of an English accent makes sense, now that he thinks about it. It’s probably another carryover from using Pretender to look at the memories of his ancestors—and he was supposed to look at his mother’s memories, wasn’t he? His mother, who’s nearly half Japanese, half Scottish, and a little English had attended school in England, so it would make sense if she, too, had an English accent. Fitz hadn’t considered that, but then, a lot of the realities of his mother’s stories escaped him then. He’ll do better.

“Most of them, no. I don’t suppose you got anything useful from your, er, Colour and the Shape?” Apparently, at the smile, he’d gotten something wrong, but at least he was trying to listen.

“Her memories of being Jessica are _really_ vague, and I can’t even tell if it’s due to the Stamp thing or just the fact she was drunk out of her mind most of the time.” Johan pauses, the cheer dropping away. “That, and it’s really weird to see someone else’s perspective on yourself. _Really weird._ ”

Fitz isn’t much of one for touch, but Xander is, so he reaches out to squeeze his friend’s shoulder. Jojo smiles gratefully. “Being the rest of them is weird, but not that weird, because they haven’t met me yet, so I can kinda distance myself from it, if that makes sense. It’s like a holodeck documentary or something.” He stretches out, still looking unfortunately tense. “Apparently Robin was also a theatre kid. Something something stage crew. I would’ve paid more attention but I was pre-caffeine fix. Most I got was it played right into the lifelong supply sergeant thing. He said that unless your dad was going under a false name he definitely wasn’t one of the performers on stage, which is kind of an if, because if I were your dad, I’d have been going under a false name for a long, long time now. He sent pictures to my email to see if you can spot Kodos, though we might need to watch a performance for a bit for sure.”

He pulls out what looks like a new laptop and signs in, passing it over easily. It’s a little odd to see a picture of the people the blond had last seen putting his friend on some sort of twisted trial as the desktop wallpaper, but he tries not to show any hesitation whatsoever, moving on to the pictures sent. He doesn’t recognize any of the performers, but then, he might not. Aunt only had a few pictures, probably with the same ‘identify the bastard’ intentions he’s using right now, and certainly didn’t take them out for him to look at. He only found them by accident once, and, well. She was hardly the guardian figure of the year, but she did care. “I only vaguely recall what he looks like, unfortunately.”

Johan sighs. “Okay, I _get_ it. Sometimes you gotta bait ‘em out. It’s just kind of weird and ironic this keeps happening to me after the power thing.” He waves it off when Fitz opens his mouth to apologize. “Not your fault. Any of it, in case you didn’t catch that. Robin Hood said something about it making the most sense if he’s supposedly a patron or a prop manager or something, but I guess we’ll figure that out. I guess we’re going to the theatre, with a plan to pull the fire alarm in case he plans to use the innocents as hostages and an ‘absolutely no we are not getting separated’ clause.”

“I think we can do a little better than that in terms of planning,” Fitz smirks, and that’s how Darling finds them when the smell of food breaks through her sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I NEED TO REMEMBER THIS IS SET IN 2004 OR 2005 (and will figure out actual numbers at some point; I think I used two contradictory statements over the course of the story and have to set those straight)


	5. Omake 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turn the page. Fitz's story.

Fitz’s past is a story he tries not to tell himself. He loves stories, the ones his mother told him, the ones contained in the pages of his books. He doesn’t love the one that tells of the mess he became after the death of his mother.

He runs from the reminders, tries to force himself back into the suit of the well-mannered bookworm, only to find that it doesn’t fit him anymore. Not like it did. And there’s very little more gauche than an ill-fitted suit. But they just keep coming. The tattoo he’d gotten to fit in, to prove he belonged. The desperate way he clings to Johan, trying to pretend he’d belonged in one of his mum’s stories all along and never gave up on the idea. How good he is at violence, how natural it feels.

He feels like a fraud, like any moment Jojo’s going to tear off that suit and find the gang member he’d been underneath. It’s a ridiculous worry, but apparently it’s the time to be ridiculous. Johan had done _everything_ right, something Fitz would never have expected before coming to terms with the complexity of his newfound friend. Every time he’s learned of something new, he doesn’t treat it like some big, terrible secret. He acknowledges, nonverbally, that he recognizes it’s important, that he’s honored by the trust, but then continues like nothing’s changed. Because nothing has, for him. _He…expects that kind of thing_ , Fitz realizes, and isn’t sure if that’s healthy or not. Surely things like his previous life of crime should change how you see a person? But then, the blond reflects, he _had_ kidnapped the man “for his own good” on their second meeting, so perhaps his past wasn’t such a surprising thing after all? And perhaps it had something to do with some of the stories Xander had told in return that he’s starting to suspect weren’t such fabrication after all, though Jojo freely admits he hadn’t always been so good about taking secrets in stride.

Part of the understanding might be the similarity in terms of their situations. They’re both dealing with integrating who they were with who they are. Xander acts like he’s fine, that there’s nothing new or difficult or hard about being Johan, too, but he has to be doing the same thing—okay, not the _same_ thing, because Jojo doesn’t seem completely ashamed of his past, though there are some things he pointedly doesn’t say and other things that he glosses over or makes a joke about, but they’re both acting like everything’s fine, like as long as they don’t think about it, no problem exists. He doesn’t seem like he even notices, but he’ll sometimes talk about himself, in the stories, as someone who doesn’t deserve anything. His adaptability is clearly a strength, but he sees it as a weakness, as a lack of stable identity. Sees himself as a magpie, a chameleon, stealing things that aren’t his and shouldn’t be. He’s scared of meeting the other Joestars, scared of their reactions, no matter how he’s overlooking the very simple fact that out of everyone, his compassion and empathy manifested in his Stand, uniquely positioning him to understand _exactly_ how someone else is feeling.

Fitz understands that feeling that they don’t belong, that they’re putting on a front. But then, listening to Johan patiently explaining a few things to Darling’s eager questions, maybe they’re not the only ones. She’s found her confidence after that fight in the bathroom she’d barely explained, but family looms over her, too. He’s not sure what ‘horrible’ entails, and has an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach at the fact Xander seemed to understand, better than he had, but even then, it’s surely a case of being afraid you can’t float above the cesspool you called home, correct? Captain Beefheart, trying to reconcile the damage her beloved grandfathers did with her love and idolation. Perhaps even Robin, though thinking about it, he’s the one who’s said the absolute least about his past, to Fitz, anyway, so he doesn’t have quite the information to make the connection.

It’s not exactly the same for any of them, but…even then, the thought makes him feel not quite as alone. He has his own issues with family. His beloved mother was dead, killed by an unknown Stand User. He’d been in the house, and though it was probable a twelve-year old with a non-combat oriented Stand would merely have died as well, it’s hard to convince his own mind of that truth. His father had abandoned them. Perhaps not directly to the killer, but mum and “Aunt Josie” had been on the run from something, and he’d clearly followed them to this world, since he’d been able to use Incognito on “Aunt Josie”. Perhaps he wasn’t _really_ involved. Perhaps he was just…who knows, a coward. Perhaps he’d even been trying to help, in his own way. But he…doesn’t want to believe that’s true.

Heavens. That makes him a terrible person, doesn’t it? Deeply, desperately desiring his own father to be a sociopath and serial killer, just so I won’t have to deal with the complexity. Because that’s what it is, in the end, isn’t it? His father has to be evil, because if not—

If not, why did he abandon them? Why didn’t he save them? Why did he attack Josephine with his Stand?

Certainly Aunt Mel didn’t approve of him. Mum tried not to talk about it, when others didn’t like his father, but she couldn’t do anything about Aunt Mel. Of course, she wasn’t exactly happy about them living there, either—they certainly were a drain on her funds, even if Mum got a job. And she was really peeved when he’d gotten arrested, because she thought it’d prevent him from obtaining employment. It hadn’t, of course, but it had been a concern.

And Grace. He couldn’t mourn her, not properly, because he was so caught up in the need to not think about the past, he hadn’t let himself think about her. Hadn’t let himself grieve. He wouldn’t even be here, if not for their promise, that if either of them died, the other would get out of the ‘business’. He’d very nearly ignored his promise anyway and sought revenge, but it was only the thought of Grace’s disapproval that stopped him. For a girl that hadn’t hesitated to stab in self-defense, unfortunately required on a more regular basis than he’d like, given their affiliation, she’d always been the more kind-hearted of the two of them. 

They always talked about the bad boys drawing good girls into a life of crime, but for him, it was the good girl drawing him in. He’d found her, nearly too late, missed the bloke lurking with the knife and been stabbed himself. LJ only had healing, then, and he’d nearly killed himself trying to heal her. They’d worried about revenge, and it wasn’t an unwarranted fear. He’d wanted it almost more than life itself.

Maybe that’s why she made him promise. He hadn’t thought twice about agreeing to it, back when it seemed a ridiculous worry, and by the time it came true…well, he’d already made a promise that mattered more than his own life. And, of course, he’d nearly died, himself. The authorities viewed his determination with suspicion at first, but when he’d never even wavered, they’d eventually relaxed their distrust and surveillance.

He hadn’t been living for himself, though, a hollow shell. He hadn’t even paid Xander much attention, dismissing him as an uneducated American (putting on airs himself, really, desperately trying to distance himself from the ‘lower classes’) until the second that name came from his lips. Suddenly, fairy tales were within reach, all those ridiculous things he’d dreamed of, and all he’d wanted as a child was within reach. He’d talked to contacts he’d made and never spoken to again, not until he needed, suddenly, to understand everything about Xander Harris. No wonder he’d had so much trouble accepting who he was, when he couldn’t even make up his mind whether to snipe at Jojo or worship the ground at his feet. All that misdirected anger was toward himself.

Someday, perhaps, this will be a story, but not yet. Now, he should live as Grace would have actually wanted for him. Friends, Jojo, a purpose, an open mind. Darling’s quest for answers is no more a distraction than his own. Perhaps his father isn’t the villain as written, but the blond will certainly be getting the explanations he seeks from the man, one way or the other. And in the meantime, he can try not to cling quite so much to the one friend he’s made, through no effort of his own (Jojo would have been well within his rights to just walk away, and yet he had not; perhaps he was just as eager for companionship, lost and uncertain) and even learn to appreciate the others on their own merits. Make more friends. Not fear himself, but perhaps, somewhere between Johan’s partner in crime and the teenage criminal Grace loved, perhaps somewhere in the union of the two there’s a good man.

“Seriously, Fitz, you okay?” Even Darling appears a little concerned.

“Sometimes people do this thing called thinking,” he counters, grateful that rather than looking hurt Jojo snorts and continuing seriously. He wants to show the same acceptance for Jojo’s past, that his value didn’t just come from his Stand. “Seriously, Xander, I’m fine, now. It’s possible Sarde isn’t murderous, but I’m having trouble coming up with an alternate explanation, and it’s probably better to be prepared for a murder attempt, just in case.”

Jojo gasps, quiet but no less shocked. Too shocked for more than a small smile tugging at the edges of the surprised expression. From the overwhelmed expression, he understands the import of it all, Fitz’s deliberate use of his old name, the setting aside of the need for revenge. Good, he’d hate to have to repeat himself. Though perhaps he’ll have to retire, once and for all, the misconception about Johan’s literary tendencies. That was a masterful reading.


	6. All the Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into the lion's den...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I saw that there’s a Queen-based musical that played at the theatre I instantly knew I had to include it.  
> There's a ton of weird coincidence things but they're a little spoilery so they'll be coming when I get through the whole thing and am editing chapters.  
> Also, apologies for posting so late. Our internet went out, so we had to have someone come fix it (how's that for pandemic fun) and I was in the middle of researching things necessary to write the chapter, so. And then I had to wait on beta-senpai. The plus: while I was waiting on a review, I got to listen to Gwinn's unofficial Steel Ball Run albums on youtube. They are fantastic.

There’s too much they don’t know. They don’t know the best approach, but there’s no real way to get the information they’re missing. Not safely. They could send in Violent Whispers, but she doesn’t have direct connection to her Stand, so she can’t get it out if there’s an attack, and while damaging Whisper is dangerous in its own way, getting her Stand out of the way leaves her vulnerable. Of course, she’d figured out how to deal with that situation on her own, but especially when they’re not sure if Sarde will be there or even if he’ll be alone, it’s not a risk they’re willing to take. The most they can do is plant a couple bugs with the help of Panzermensch, but Captain Beefheart is still recovering from how she’d used her Stand, so they can’t even get too many of those. They’ll listen to the recordings shortly before they head in, but it’s pretty clear none of them are expecting to find anything. Hopefully, they at least discover something about why the police find Johan at least a person of interest. He’d thought Darling had been fairly thorough in her cleaning the area of fingerprints and the like.

At one point, this would have been easy as breathing. It’s an odd realization that at one point he would have been right alongside Johan in shrugging off the danger—well, no, that’s not the case. It’s more like there’s no use in worrying about what they can’t control, and the whole exercise is a calculated risk, anyway. Approaching enemy Stand Users always is. These days, he’s so much more risk-averse. 

But, just like Jojo taking the plane, this whole venture is happening whether he likes it or not. Worse, it’s his own idea. It’s not like he can back out, much less ask his friends to put themselves in danger while he dares not.

Perhaps they would find more backstage, but none of them is especially confident in their ability to play a role. Well. Jojo probably could, but Darling’s clearly too young and Fitz doesn’t feel especially comfortable as backup. There’s no way any of them are going alone, so actually going to the play’s the thing. It’s a good thing, in retrospect, that they went shopping. Darling’s attire would have stuck out badly otherwise. Even Jojo’s, given that it had been a while since he’d had a change of clothes before their little shopping trip.

With any luck, everything will go smoothly. Fitz spares a thought as to whether he’s jinxed them, a topic he wouldn’t have entertained for more than a second before. It’s pretty clear Johan, for one, believes in the possibility of a jinx, and given his stories, perhaps it’s the voice of experience, not superstition, that declares the possibility to be truth.

It’s a bit of a surprise when Johan starts playing up the American thing, though (fortunately) not the obnoxious American stereotype. It’s not until he affectionately calls Darling ‘cous’ that Fitz clues in. Of course, two adult men hanging around with a teenage girl might strike as sketchy, but a man, his friend, and his cousin are, conversely, fine. It’s almost worryingly easy, because their intentions are good, but another’s might not be, and now he’s left wondering if he’s missed the same on another occasion.

They might not have been able to pull off being workers somehow affiliated with the operations of the theatre, deliveries for example, but Darling and Jojo take the roles of ‘American cousin and English cousin’ and take off running. Then again, they’d demonstrated a special understanding of each other from the start, which makes Fitz worry with his newfound realization. He’s read about abuse, seen it, even, during his period of rebellion that he tries not to think about, but he’s grown rusty, or, well.

No, it’s not that. He would certainly have noticed had he been looking. He just didn’t wish to do so. Wanted to turn a blind eye on anything, _anything_ that might have reminded him of that time. Just as his irritation at Jojo was also a defense mechanism, because this is dangerous, this is drawing him back into the times he thought he’d left behind. But, in the end, this is for the better. Jojo’s friendship is for the better. He is privileged to have such a friend, even if he’s entirely ridiculous.

And Jojo’s on his best behavior—perhaps drawing from his grandfather—because a polite, charming young man, however ignorant and American he may seem, is disarming. Certainly others will be less inclined to give any credence to the idea that he means any harm, or that Darling is anything less than his actual cousin.

“It’s a musical. _We Will Rock You._ You might actually enjoy this one—it was partially based on the _Matrix_ film—” Fitz begins to explain—he can easily serve as the knowledgeable tour guide of knowledge, since that _had_ been his occupation for years, and perhaps a familiar routine will serve to ease his nerves as long as he doesn’t lean into it too hard and forget himself again—when Johan turns to him with a delighted smile, interrupting in his enthusiasm.

“That’s the one based on Queen’s music, right?” At the shocked blink, he blushes a little. “This time, it’s not just me existing to throw you off. This one’s on somebody else. Mom really likes the band—I think it’s some kind of weird dominance thing, because Grandpa beat Killer Queen, so now the music is ours by right of conquest or something. Did I mention that Mom is kinda offbeat?”

“Not directly, no, but Mum’s told me a story or two.” Fitz smiles wistfully. He hadn’t even considered—not a day went by that he didn’t feel his mother’s loss, as the only parent he’d ever really have, but by this point, it was more dulled, bittersweet. To see Jojo with his mother will hurt, but in a good way. He’s always wanted to meet the legend. “You can tell her all about it when you see her again, and perhaps convince her to take you in different circumstances.”

There’s something slightly sad about the tentative hope in Jojo’s eyes. Like he’d never dared consider family in such a way before. He’s glad he hadn’t regarded the previous thought with jealousy, or he’d feel like a right bastard.

Johan starts to reply, but Fitz doesn’t hear the response. He turns his head as fast as possible, because he thought he just saw something dark enter the wall, but either he’s too slow or the situation is getting to him, just like some of those late nights in the bookstore. “Something wrong?” Jojo asks.

“I’m not sure,” he replies, talking under his breath because summoning LJ might be a bit too noticeable, here in the lobby. “I thought I saw a shadow out of the corner of my eye, like it phased through the wall, but…I don’t know.”

Fortunately, the others seem to be taking it seriously. Ordinarily he might wave it off as superstition, but then, if a lot of the things like demons and ghosts are real, perhaps he shouldn’t be too hasty in his judgments. If they’re in the equivalent of a horror movie, he should under no circumstances second guess anything odd he notices, and also shouldn’t wander off alone, particularly since he’s the blond in the party.


	7. Twisted Sister Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz, Johan, and Darling try to enjoy the play...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter also entitled Don't Turn Around.

Jojo’s definitely enjoying the play, and even Darling seems to have settled entirely. The other playgoers, fortunately, seem to be ignoring their clothes, though it could either have to do with the assumption that they had also been attacked by statues (one could hardly conceal that, though perhaps one might explain it away) or a belief that the clothes had been bought with artfully placed holes. Certainly Darling’s ripped jeans look purposeful, though he supposes it has more to do with her situation that made it easier to stay away from her foster home and steal to provide for herself than it does anything she might have bought. Fitz briefly wonders whether that has anything to do with the threat of police before discarding that thought as uncharitable. Really, he ought to be better about such things. None of them get along with the police, and as criminal activity goes, a mere thief is certainly better than assault, among other sins.

It seems a little backwards that they’re enjoying it and he’s not, but he needs to drop these assumptions he’s built up to defend himself, to pretend he’s the cultured one and better than others that visited the bookstore. Johan might even turn out to be open to watching operas and enjoy them. He might even understand what’s going on, if he’s got knowledge of the languages the Joestar Family spoke. Fitz definitely sees the merits of the script, and the actors and actresses are talented, but he keeps seeing movement out of the corner of his eyes that he shouldn’t be seeing. Movement like that during a production could be an annoying restless audience member, but most of the other playgoers are behaving themselves.

Embarrassingly, Fitz realizes _he’s_ the annoying restless audience member, this time. The adrenaline from the possibility of the confrontation with his father isn’t filling him with power and determination. It’s actually making him jumpy. And there’s something else going on. It’s very possibly a Stand, but it’s not Incognito. Incognito _is_ fast, true, according to the Stand Files, but not this fast. He can’t even catch a glimpse of what’s moving directly, just out of the corner of his eyes. Either it’s moving fast enough he can’t see it, or—

Or there’s more than one. He swallows.

And Jojo puts his hand on Fitz’s arm. He looks concerned—and yeah, he’s being a problem. Because he has to calm down, too, like he’s in a thriller novel. He’s acting too suspicious and might be drawing attention from the wrong parties, if he acts too obvious.

Fitz manages a smile and focuses on his breathing. He’s read a few books on how to deal with anxiety, which he supposes is apt enough, but no matter how many thrillers or spy novels he’s read, it’s not exactly a how-to book. He needs to relax, but keep on alert, however oppositional the two statements seem and feel.

Apparently, he’s erred a little too much on the calm side, because he reacts just an instant too late. Johan is the one who grabs them both and pulls them to the ground between the seats just in time. He’d seen the dark shape out of the corner of his eye charge, but hadn’t been able to react before it reached and flew past them. It’s not his imagination, though. He can feel the rush of air as it passes over their heads. Darling gasps, but he’s not surprised, just a little too slow. And one of the other playgoers screams. Their seatmate looks like they’re trying to comprehend what just happened—so they’re not the only ones who noticed the Stand, or at least the effects of the Stand.

“You see it too? Is that a Stand?” the blond asks as quietly as he can manage, and Jojo nods, cooly grim, just as the rest of the audience begins to panic around them.

“I’d bet it’s one of the Stands from the missing pages. I’ve been looking for that shadow you described, trying to see it clearly, but even turning your eyes to try to see it doesn’t work. It just vanishes, like it was a trick of the imagination. But I knew you weren’t imagining things. I’ve been working on my Ripple-fu, and the rest of the audience might be trying to convince itself that there’s nothing there, doing better at pretending they’re calm than you were, but their breathing was anxious. Natural enough, I guess, if you’re being stalked by something you can’t see.” He’d been cracking jokes about taking flying an airplane with no experience and had been more worried about Fitz’s feelings than crashing, and yet he seems to be taking this seriously, which doesn’t help the blond’s worry.

“What are you saying, Jojo?” His voice gets harsher than he means it to from the stress of the situation. Fortunately, Johan seems to understand, as he doesn’t look offended.

“I don’t know if it feeds on fear or it’s just using it as a weapon, but this Stand can’t be seen if you look at it directly. You have to keep it in the corner of your eye and watch for its movements.” He has to struggle to be heard above the screams, and Fitz manages to make out one hysterical voice among the crowd.

“He’s dead! He’s dead! My friend’s dead!” And just as easy as that, the man slumps over, too, voice snuffed out. He’s too far toward the center of the blond’s vision for him to see whether the man died of fear, heart theatrically stopping in his chest, or whether one of the shadows got him.

“It didn’t kill our seatmate,” Darling struggles to be heard, and there’s fear in her voice, but the determined look on her face says she’s not going to run from a fight anymore. Good. They need all the help they can get. And he’d wondered the same, but hadn’t seen enough to be sure.

“Some people they kill on contact, some they don’t. What’s the difference? That’s probably the difference between safety and death.” Well, he _is_ taking this a little more seriously, but he’s still a goose. 

Fitz rolls his eyes, taking reassurance in the familiarity where he can. “You need not state the obvious, Jojo.”

Johan’s reassuring grin helps shine a little hope on the situation. “You’re welcome, Lt. Sarcasm.”


	8. Twisted Sister Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz, Johan, and Darling have a conversation with the rude playgoer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter also entitled The Power and The Glory.

“I’m impressed you survived,” a voice calls, raspy and chilling. Fitz cautiously peeks between the seats to see a teenage goth, casually leaning against the back of a seat, facing them. She looks vaguely familiar for some reason, but a quick poke around his brains finds no reason for the recognition. It’s not like the situation with Darling where they’d seen her on the double decker before the fight. Jojo takes a peek with his remaining eye very, very carefully. “Most lose their minds against Twisted Sister, but then, you wouldn’t be so fun if you were like most of Pixie’s dolls. And Pixie would be oh-so-angry at me if I killed one of her dolls without her permission, but then, big sis knows best, after all. She’d understand, if I explained.”

“Who is Pixie? Your little sister?” Xander calls out conversationally, as if they’re not under threat of death, ignoring Fitz elbowing him in the side. He’s acting like this is perfectly normal, and—no, wait. It _is_ , for him. Fitz had thought—had hoped—that he’d been exaggerating in his stories, but he’d been naïve. No wonder he’d treated a kidnapping like a minor faux pas. Because it was, for him. No wonder he jokes around so much. It’s a desperately needed coping mechanism, something to help release the stress before the pressure cooks him alive. However painful the realization is (he’d taken long enough, step by step, figuring that out), this isn’t the time to dwell on it.

“What, you don’t have that in your little book?” Wait—she knows about the list of Stand Users? But before Fitz can ask, she’s already moving on from her taunt. “It’s the name she chose for herself, to free herself from those awful people.” The last few words are hissed, venomous and angry, before the poison candy smile returns. “Darling Violetta, you understand exactly what I mean. You too, Alexander Harris, though I can’t work out if you’re luckier or unluckier you were even related.”

Johan raises his chin with dignity, eyes hard. “I don’t care if you call me Johan or Xander, but _don’t_ use that last name.”

The Stand User throws her head back and laughs. She sounds more amused than dangerous, but that edge is still lurking under the surface. “All right, all right! You’re a card! Maybe I’ll wait and see what Pixie says.”

“You killed my parents, didn’t you?” Darling asks, brave, and the goth snarls.

“You saying they didn’t deserve that? You saying you deserved it all, that you’re the bad girl, that you’re the one who deserved to die?” The lights crackle ominously, though the screams have mostly died down. The only people left are the bodies on the floor, them, and this Stand User.

“No, but…” Darling shrinks a little until Jojo puts a supporting hand on her shoulder. She flashes a grateful smile and draws up her courage. “This way, they’re actually escaping judgment. They don’t deserve to die; they deserve to pay for their crimes. By dying like this, it’s ‘isn’t it awful’ and ‘weren’t they such good people who went to church’ instead of ‘weren’t they awful people to their daughter’. People need to talk about them, about the people they really were. People need to learn what it’s like, even if it’s scary.”

All at once, the menacing atmosphere disappears. “You’re all such fascinating people. I’ll think about it, but you really should float that by Pixie. We’ll see what she thinks of your little thought experiment. You’re late, with no time to say hello or goodbye. You’ve got a tea party to get to and a rabbit hole to scoot down. I’ll keep your mates company, but hand on heart, I won’t touch ‘em until the end of Pixie’s party. Unlike Wonderland’s, yours probably won’t last all day.”

“I suppose we’re not invited.” Fitz tries to match the casual tone Jojo adopted, but his heart’s rabbiting about somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.

The Stand User’s grin is full of teeth. “Oh, I must’ve lost your invitations. My bad.”

“And I further suppose it’ll break this ceasefire if we don’t play by the rules.” Now he’s the one being supported with a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Much as he appreciates Jojo, he’s not a child. However much courage it imparts.

She pats the weapon next to her affectionately, and the shadows on the edge of their vision gather. “Behave like good little dollies, and we won’t have to break you apart with an axe.”

Darling stands cautiously, and it doesn’t look like the ring of ghostly shadows moves at all. “I’ll be all right.”

“Don’t hesitate to play dirty if they turn out to not follow their word, okay?” Still, Xander lets her go with a supportive smile, and she smiles back.

“Don’t you dare get killed before I get back. Either of you.” She even waits for Fitz to nod his agreement before she glances at the Stand User.

“Past the noose,” she replies to the unspoken question, pointing at a door. Darling flinches slightly but doesn’t hesitate, leaving immediately.

Cautiously, Johan also stands, becoming less cautious when it doesn’t look like any of the ghosts or whatever they are move (though they wouldn’t see, not right in front of them, not until it’s too late—) He also leans against a seat, this one in front of him, to talk to the Stand User. “Won’t you get in trouble with Wolfram & Hart for leaving us alive, if you do decide to leave us alive?”

That smirk says she knows something they don’t. “Oh, you think that they’re the only players in this little game? Well, that’s fair, I suppose. They’ve plastered themselves as Public Enemy Number One to anyone that’s anyone. Easy enough for any old killer or spider to sneak around unseen, what with them demanding the limelight.” She shrugs theatrically. “Besides, the way they play, they’re painting a big target on their backs, if they decide to go after us. From their small practices like killing their employees to blackmail, assassination, sacrifice…they build up bad karma. _Hoard_ it. Generations and generations of cursed ground, bleeding into every aspect of reality. That kind of pain is power the kind demons and devils thrive upon, but a debt like that has to be paid eventually.”

“Did you kill Robert?” Fitz asks desperately, and shivers slightly at the sadistic smile.

“No, but I heard about it. Read about it, even. Thing like that, rumors get whispered in the dead of night, you know how it is. Such a gruesome kill. Would’ve loved to be there.” She pauses for a moment. “Wait, I’m supposed to tell you how sorry I am, right? Well, from what I heard, he didn’t deserve it, either. Good man. Bummer.”

It’s hard to tell if she’s mocking him or sincerely offering whatever sort of sincere condolences her shriveled heart can muster. The blond clenches his fists and reminds himself there’s no point in attacking her. Not yet.

“I suppose you chose a name for yourself, too?” Johan frowns at her but doesn’t bother telling her off. She probably wouldn’t listen anyway.

“Alice Cooper.” She bows theatrically, and suddenly Fitz places her. Newspapers.

A brutal beating in a park. A teenager’s death. The sentence of life in prison for her attackers. It’s the same face from the ‘before’ photograph.

He tugs on Johan’s sleeve urgently. “Jojo, she’s dead—” he begins, and her appearance changes to that brutalized ‘after’ picture before he can even finish the sentence.

“Dead? Like this?” The vicious smile is even more disturbing now. “Well, makes me hard to kill, doesn’t it? Can’t take out the Stand User, if you felt like that was an option. Welcome to my nightmare.” Cooper opens her arms wide in invitation. 


	9. Miss Murder Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darling gets ready for a tea party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got two holiday posts lined up for my Dreamwidth account, so I'm posting a surprise early Shadowed Suspicion chapter.  
> Happy holidays, whatever you celebrate, or otherwise hope you have a good week!  
> Chapter also entitled Can I Make Beauty Stay.  
> ~Dreamer~

It’s a strange thing to dwell on, but Darling feels a little embarrassed. They don’t have to say it, but Speedwagon at least makes it clear. They think of her as the weakest link—not on purpose, no, but fighting isn’t her forte and everyone knows it. They know she’s not a coward. She’d fought a Stand User on her own, and she’s cool under pressure when she’s in her element. Maybe it’s not something she should be proud of, but she _is_ proud of her work. It’s not like she’d had a lot else to practice and perfect, and maybe she has to feel good about it because her whole life would be unbearable. But she’s good at something, and that feels good, when they told her she was bad at everything she tried and couldn’t do anything right.

All the fighting before, it’d just been distractions to get away. No big deal. One Stand fight isn’t enough to make her an expert, and she knows it. She has a better idea about how to use Whisper now. It’s strange to think that he’s a Stand. He feels separate. Like he was her only friend for so long. Even now as she calls him out, it doesn’t feel like he’s simply a part of her, like a possession. He curls around her neck and shoulders like a big scarf, warm weight reassuring. He feels her worry and uncertainty and wants to reassure her.

From what little Speedwagon and Jojo have said, though, Stands are all different. And apparently Pretender talks to Jojo sometimes, so maybe Whisper’s different, too.

Whisper snuggles in. He understands. He always has. Partner. That’s more accurate for both of them.

She knows they’re worried about her being able to hold their own, but she feels…ready. Not overconfident. The adrenaline in her veins isn’t fear. It’s strength.

She doesn’t feel like she has to find somewhere to curl up and breathe. Which is how she can tell. If she was feeling weak, like she couldn’t deal with this, she’d find somewhere that would give other people claustrophobia, but she’s angry, but calm. She didn’t know that was a thing that could happen, but some people get claustrophobia in safe places, so it must just be something she’s never experienced before.

She hadn’t known how to feel before that strange Stand User had forced the words out of her. Society dictated simply regret, grief, but it’s not nearly that easy. She does miss them in her own way, but it will never be the same as it would for someone with a real familial connection—and she’s not one of those orphans who blindly thinks that just being born into the family gives you that. After all, she’s fairly certain that Jojo’s father was a jerk, and he’s not even an orphan.

It might not be a fight, even. More than anything, she just wants to understand. This Pixie is probably an orphan like her, and might have experienced worse. They all hear the horror stories, possibly spread by the adoption agencies to discourage repeats. She wants to understand what the girl was thinking. She’s not sure that she wants revenge, or justice, or if she’d just walk away, but she wants to know who she is, what she’ll do. And to start, she wants to understand. 

Fortunately, she’s not walking into the complete unknown. It’s kind of scary, menacing even. It’s not the lack of people that gets Darling. She’s been in all sorts of places that are deserted. School is actually kind of cool when no one’s there, like some forbidden castle, and it’s best to steal from people when they’re not near their belongings anyway. Part of it is the worry that Speedwagon’s old man is here. Because he’s not a good guy, either, probably. With her newest set of adopted parents, it was the mum that was worse. Da just didn’t say anything when he should. And he should. She’s just a kid; how’s she going to protect herself from the people who are supposed to protect her, besides not being in home and doing things that would get them in trouble, which would get her in trouble, too, if they could catch her. But it’s not like they give her a choice.

The goth Stand User lady didn’t, either, even though she voiced it like one, because the choice between a fight with a bunch of Shadows that are some kind of Stand that can kill you and what might not be a fight isn’t really that much of a choice. Maybe she can’t understand. Maybe Pixie can’t either, because if they can’t understand that that’s not a choice, then maybe they won’t understand the rest of it, either, but she has to try.

It should be that they’re holding all the cards. They’ve got Speedwagon and Jojo possibly as hostages by a lady with a pretty terrifying Stand, and as clever and strong as Speedwagon and Jojo are, it just takes one little mistake for the opponent to get lucky. They’d accidentally proved that themselves, when she’d accidentally almost killed them trying to get away, and it was only because Jojo was so understanding and forgiving that things turned out even remotely okay. They have who knows how many other Stand Users around, and they have only the sadistic lady’s word that they’ll honor their ceasefire or whatever they want to call it. She’s not entirely sure what they’re doing, why they agreed or why she’s even going through with this. Before the Violettas died, before she’d known Jojo, she might have just walked away, hoping they’d leave her alone. She wasn’t heartless or anything. If cornered, she’d fight, but only to get away. She’d care about the pain and death, of course, but she didn’t believe she could manage something on her own like this. And maybe she’d been going through the motions, surviving but not really living. Maybe she didn’t really have a reason to live, a goal to strive for, but she has one now, and she’s not willing to give that up. Even if it’s scary. Even if it might, conversely, end all of that prematurely, because she’s got friends now, when she’d been told she was antisocial and would always be alone. Because she wants to understand. Because she wants to help her friends. Because she wants to take this as far as she can go.

They’re just following their instincts. Maybe that’s what a Stand is, at its core. Even Whisper, who rustles in response. It makes more sense than all of the rest of the definitions they’ve used. And Jojo was sure. So is she. The sadist goth lady was telling the truth. Maybe she’s just a really good liar, but Darling doesn’t think so. Following a hunch to find the truth. The question is, really, which of them is Sherlock Holmes. She resists the urge to giggle at the thought. It’s very silly.

And while someone else might own the theatre, it feels menacing, like the sisters took this place and made it their own. But if they’re both following rules, they can be understood, and maybe they can understand, too. It feels like this is the sort of game they’re committed to playing, and Darling’s had teatime before. It wasn’t for long, one of the good ones. Miss Young was great, but as much as she wanted to keep her when she was laid off she couldn’t support herself, let alone Darling, so back into the system she went. Still, the good memories, while brief, are all that much more important to keep.

She’d also read Alice in Wonderland, and that time it wasn’t even for school. She doesn’t remember everything, but just like that crazy artist statue lady had an obsession, maybe Pixie does, too. And maybe that’s a weakness.

The doors open on their own without Darling even touching them into what looks like maybe a dressing room, and every surface is covered in black lace and it looks like the mirror’s a prop, too. At a small table that looks like it came from a cartoon in the center with a teapot and a serving tray of biscuits sits the person that is probably Pixie, stroking a fluffy rabbit with three red eyes. “Welcome to my party, Darling. I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time.”

“Thank you.” Darling steps forward and the doors close behind her with a heavy sound.


	10. Miss Murder Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darling and Pixie enjoy a tea party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, everyone, to a new year! May it be exponentially (with a high positive exponent) better than 2020 for us all!  
> If he’d been there, Xander would’ve made a Princess Bride connection.  
> Chapter also entitled Two of a Kind.

“I’m sorry; I don’t have a good dress for such an occasion.” Darling curtseys with an invisible skirt. It seems to please Pixie anyway.

“It’s all right. I should have sent the invitation sooner.” Pixie uncovers two more trays, and Darling’s surprised that there are also small sandwiches and scones. It’s entirely possible, if they’re lying, that these are all poisoned. On the other hand, if she doesn’t eat what is being offered to her, Pixie might take murderous exception to her refusal. And they both can heal her, if it is like that. Assuming they both live, if something goes wrong. 

“I don’t want to talk about unpleasant things; it’s a tea party, it should be happy.” She stands, adorable and innocent in her dress. “How do you take your tea, Darling? May I call you that?”

“If nothing else, this _is_ a tea party,” Darling decides. Much worse things than simply having an enemy call her by her first name could very well happen before the end, and it’s not like she can control what someone else says, anyway. “Milk and sugar please.” She didn’t get enough of either, and was careful about how much she took from the places she’d taken things. A little food here and there was one thing, but too much and someone was bound to notice.

The girl claps her hands. “Splendid!” And then she begins to pour, graceful, and carefully adds the requested milk and sugar. “I was saying, I don’t want to talk about unpleasant things, but sometimes it’s inevitable, don’t you agree, Darling? This might be a ceasefire, but sometimes we must talk about things we don’t wish to.”

“I was hoping to have a chat myself,” Darling agrees, trying to work out whether the ease with which Pixie is pleased is good or bad. She certainly seems childish. She’s probably younger, barely a teen, perhaps, but the way she acts make her seem younger. Which…well.

Probably every young person believes themselves to be more mature. Compared to Mr. Speedwagon and Jojo, Darling feels younger for the first time she can remember. She certainly feels older than Pixie, but then, the contrast is not really a happy one. More than anything, she’d want to not have to resort to breaking the law to survive, but the system tired of placing her over and over, and the Violettas had been the worst of the lot, so she’d have asked to remain at one of the previous families, even if it hadn’t been ideal. What a thing it would be, to giggle carefree over a new doll or pair of trousers. Sometimes she feels envy for some of her classmates, but then, none of them get to have Whisper, either.

“I see. We’re so alike, you and I.” Pixie pours tea for herself and daintily adds a few sugar cubes. “It’s not our fault our parents died; we shouldn’t have to suffer. And we both have cute friends! This is Miss Murder, but I call her Murr because, well, people don’t seem to like her full name. That’s all right, though. I don’t much care for my full name, either, but people should be allowed to be called what they want. Murr’s all right with either, though, so feel free to call her what you wish. And don’t hesitate to pet her, either; she loves it.”

Darling eyes the fluffy bunny dubiously. It is certainly an ominous name, but when she thinks about it, Whisper’s full name _is_ Violent Whispers, even when she doesn’t like to think about it. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t have a name preference, either. The rabbit eyes her back, but unlike the rabbits she’d seen the one time she broke into the petting zoo, the bunny doesn’t look frightened of every shadow. It looks…not disdainful, but bored. And completely unconcerned. She couldn’t mistake the intelligent look in those three red eyes, either.

The thief figures out what’s so unsettling about Murr. She acts perfectly like a normal rabbit, wiggling her nose and all, but she doesn’t act like prey. She acts like a predator, confident, unafraid, and willing to rise to the challenge of a fight, should it come to it. Society would trot out the tired ‘pets resemble their owners’ or vice versa, but it’s probably even more true when it’s a Stand and thus a reflection of the self.

Pixie acts like an adorable little girl, but she’s no more a victim than Miss Murder is prey. They’ve killed several people. Pixie genuinely believes them to have a connection, and Darling’s gaining confidence it means that she won’t act against her or Mr. Speedwagon or Jojo _yet_. But if handled wrong? If given evidence they’re _not_? It might turn to homicidal rage very quickly.

She reaches out and pets the fluffy fur, keeping in mind that it’s possible Miss Murder works the same way Whisper does. She gets the feeling Murr is laughing at her hesitation, at the hints of fear. Or…well, in her case, she considers it fair caution, but to a predator, caution isn’t necessary.

It’s only fair to respond in kind. “This is Whisper, or Violent Whispers. He doesn’t prefer a name, either, and it’s up to him whether he wants to be petted.”

Whisper extends his head just far enough to be in reach, and Pixie pets him instantly. She’s never felt what Whisper feels, but Mr. Speedwagon and Jojo seem to feel what LJ and Pretender feel. She wonders if Pixie feels it when Murr gets petted.

He doesn’t trust the murderer or her Stand at all, Darling guesses. But he’s willing to put his life on the line to help her. It’s interesting, too, because looking at Darling and Whisper, society would probably think they’re the dangerous ones.

“I’ve never thought of snakes as cute, but Whisper certainly is. He’s also free to the sandwiches, if he wants. Murr already stole one of them, naughty girl. But she’s just so charming, so I can’t bring myself to scold her.” Murr still looks entirely unconcerned. Smug, even.

Pixie selects one of the sandwiches and starts eating delicately. She doesn’t seem like she’s taking extra precautions, so it’s probably safe to eat. Darling follows her example, and again, the girl seems pleased. Now, if she can only keep this up, they might just get through this without a fight.


	11. Miss Murder Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tea party goes wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter also entitled Swear to Play Nice.

Darling’s doing pretty well so far, playing at this whole posh thing, but they’re going to have to get to the difficult part at some point. Her hands tremble a little as she takes a polite sip of the tea, remembering all the little things she’d laughed at, finding funny, like the pinky thing, because at the tea party of a capricious murderer, the littlest things might matter. Honestly, she might’ve stalled too much, already. Maybe they were liars. Maybe Pixie’s big sister _meant_ to keep her promise, but was a little too obsessed with blood. She hadn’t experienced it herself, but she’d read about it. People who got addicted to hurting others. But if she thinks too much about everything that could go wrong, she’ll freeze up. It’s enough to know that this is important, and they could kill her. So she better not mess this up.

“I’d apologize for ruining the atmosphere, but you’ve already said you were all right with talking about unpleasant things, and that it was necessary. So I thought I’d make it clear before we get any further, I’m not going to change my mind on this. If you’re here to convince me Jojo and Mr. Speedwagon are evil, it’s not going to work. I already had this talk with someone else. He tried to tell me that they were bad, too, but he was definitely wrong, because a bad person wouldn’t help me like that.” It’s a bit of a speech, but she’s nervous. At least she’d chosen the words carefully, even if she couldn’t quite stop them from coming from her mouth. The room feels full of menace again, contrary to Pixie’s mild expression that hasn’t twitched once. She even finishes off her sandwich in the heavy, dangerous silence, and takes a few appreciative sips from her own teacup.

She’s the sort of person who doesn’t like to show weakness or anger, Darling realizes, and that doesn’t help her uneasy feeling. People who can hide their feelings so completely like that are dangerous. She’s also the one stalling this time, because she’s worried about what she’ll say. Darling really shouldn’t feel smug about it, because it’s a dangerous situation, but she allows herself to feel smug anyway. Because she doesn’t feel quite so pathetic, like it was her fault for not having the exact right words to stop all of this before they can even have a proper argument. She might breathe easier when they’re gone (and feel a little guilty about that fact) than when she’s with them, but she’ll still feel guilty, sometimes, for things they’ve told her are her fault, or just for the fact she hasn’t been able to stay with a family for too long even though it’s not really her fault at all. 

“Well, you’re throwing yourself right into it, aren’t you? But no, I don’t plan on treading the same road as Anthony.” It takes Darling a distracted moment to realize that they’re talking about the same incident, that Anthony must have been the User of Sons of Dixie. Which is, of course, important news, because it means they know each other. Which is even more important, because while Anthony had been talking about a bounty, neither sister had mentioned that, and while it might have been just a lie, a distraction to separate them, the older sister suggested that Pixie decided whether they lived or died. Not Wolfram & Hart. So that was interesting information that would be useful if she survived to share her memory notes with anyone. With that, the mystery of the ‘ _her_ ’ he’d mentioned was also solved. It’s almost scarier, because it’s more unpredictable, because she doesn’t fully know what a free agent’s intentions would be, but she’s of course being silly. If Pixie was the type to take money, then she couldn’t have agreed not to kill them all. “You really wish to talk silly philosophy to begin?” There’s just the slightest hint of irrational, burning anger in the tone before she tucks that away behind a shrug and a smirk. “But then, why not? Some Stand Users hold a ridiculous superstition about explaining their Stand, as if it can render them powerless, just like that. But Miss Murder isn’t really like that.”

She’s been enthusiastic, if proper, during the whole ceremony, but the way her eyes light up and she leans forward a little…even if none of it shows in her voice, this is a topic she’s passionate talking about, no matter how much she’d made fun of it. Hopefully she doesn’t explain this all, like a proper villain, to everyone right before she kills them. That would be unfortunate. And kind of scary. And even if she can fight back, she doesn’t want to. Staring at the girl, she can’t even work out whether she wants her dead, in place of the last couple who raised her. They weren’t very nice people, but they didn’t deserve to die. But, on the other hand, did they deserve to be avenged? That was the real question.

“Some people are terrible people. They hold the guilt in their hearts for the awful things they have done, even if they don’t accept or acknowledge it. Even the ones that don’t feel bad for hurting other people will hold that sin in their hearts.” So far, so sane. Which is why clearly she has to say something terrible soon.

“Murr protects me, like Whisper protects you.” She picks up the rabbit, which twitches its whiskers and allows itself to act cute and cuddly, nuzzling into Pixie’s shoulder. Again, the only key indicating that this is all just an act is the indulgent watchfulness in the three red eyes. _Pixie might want to give me a chance, but her Stand just wants to hurt me._ It’s probably how a normal bunny feels when there’s a hungry hawk eyeing it, biding its time. How scary. “She knows the bad people. And she can make the sins of the past haunt the bad people.” Suddenly, things make sense. She remembers Speedwagon mentioning something about the abandoned building catching fire in the past. He’d just written it off as something to do with the construction, but if it was more than that, if it was making people and places relive bad things that had happened…

“How does she tell you who’s good and who’s bad?” And does it happen at the same as she calls on disasters?

“Two kinds of people make Miss Murder use her powers to protect me.” There’s something suddenly distant in Pixie’s eyes, which makes Whisper slither closer, sensing Darling’s concern. Pixie could be a well-built, magical doll. “People who are bad, and people she’s not sure about.”

Guessing she already knows the answer makes her bold. She meets that cold gaze unflinching. “And which am I?”

The distance dissolves at once, Pixie coming alive once more. “She’s not sure about you. We’re so alike, and yet, she’s not sure.”

There’s the answer to her question about vengeance. No matter what, Darling’s not a killer, not willingly. She’ll defend herself, and even hurt people to get away, but she doesn’t want anyone to die. “We are alike, in that we both want justice. But, Pixie, you’ve overlooked one thing. They can’t care about their sins because they’re dead. But they cared so much about their reputations. Living, having people whispering about them, calling them bad people…that would hurt so much more.” Whether that makes her good or not, she’s not sure. But they also can’t change if they’re dead. She’s not sure whether they would or whether they’d just wither away in bitter thoughts, but it’s worth a try.

Pixie actually claps her hands in delight, looking perfectly alive, as if the memory of the dead look in her eyes had been just a dream. “Oh, Darling, you’re so _darling!_ ” she coos, the rabbit’s eyes flashing a brighter red. “I’ll need to test that conviction of yours. I hope you survive, truly.”

Darling makes it to her feet as a crash shakes the building.


	12. Twisted Sister Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you have a conversation with someone who clearly wants to kill you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter also entitled Feel Your Bite.  
> Because there are some disturbing implications in the Strength episode. /manga chapter. whatever, really.

Xander knows his pacing is making Fitz antsy, but he can’t help himself. He has an excess of energy and no other way to deal with it. He’s not usually a pacer, but usually there’s something to do. Sharpening weapons. Barricading windows. Serving as Buffy’s training dummy. Research, boring as it can be. _Something._

He could sleep again. Maybe Pretender’s got an idea of how to deal with this Stand. But it’d be far too easy to get killed if or when the ceasefire gets called off, the _second_ it gets called off or get Fitz hurt or killed protecting him. His friend might have learned his lesson, but in the heat of the moment? Jojo would do it too, without hesitation. In case of an attack, he needs to be alert, at least. So that’s not an option. There’s no way to research, no weapons to prepare, and it’s not like they’re anywhere they can easily defend, when the enemy is within the same room. Maybe, _maybe_ he could be the captain of morale, or whatever. Fitz isn’t any calmer than he is. But—

But Darling feels like Dawn, he realizes. Just a little kid, who could have been his sister if he’d been lucky and she’d been unlucky (though, to be fair, one of two isn’t bad—but he still wouldn’t wish his childhood on anyone). And, ghost or not, Alice feels like Faith, back when she was still lost, still a threat, still—

“You’re definitely less chill than your, what is it, uncle?” Cooper isn’t even looking at him as she plays with the dagger, testing out the point on a fingertip and watching the skin bleed. (It’s sharp. He could have told her that, but suspects she already knew.) He’s trying to ignore the feeling of the blood in his veins turning to ice, a contrast to her casual, confident words.

“Which uncle?” he asks, and maybe he’s falling into a verbal trap, but he _has_ to know. He ignores the way Fitz tugs on his sleeve, accidentally tearing the fabric just a little more than before, now that he’s finally stopped moving. Ignores the fact he can easily picture the expression of disapproval the blond’s been wearing far too often in his presence lately.

“I’ll give you a hint.” She mimicks pulling a hat down over her eyes, and mutters “yare yare daze.” Her pronunciation is atrocious, and Johan finds himself wincing automatically at that even as his mind’s racing. How, where—

She smiles and continues. “Of course, Gran never really understood any of what was going on, but how could she? She was so young, and couldn’t see any of it, after all.” 

Instantly, he knows, though he wishes he didn’t. “Anne?”

Rather than trying to stop him, Fitz’s hand at his elbow is now stabilizing, and he’d gotten out of his carefully chosen out of the way somehow. When he wasn’t looking. Jojo’s grateful. He feels like he needs that grounding presence, or he’d just float away.

“She always wondered, you know. Years later, she heard about the famous marine explorer, and she says she always regretted that. She never heard whether they saved his mum. Jotaro was alive, at least, but she’d never gotten to see him again.” Alice’s voice is thick with disappointment, too. Jotaro had wondered, too, but he’d guessed (hoped) she’d be fine. For a little brat, she was pretty resourceful. He’d smile, just a little, hearing she’d made it.

She continues to play with the dagger, but this time, she isn’t even looking at her hands. “After all, she really wanted Jotaro to see her, not as a girl, but as a woman. I mean, I’m glad my grandfather wasn’t some ape, but she always—”

“Shut up!” Johan screams, fists clenched. He knows exactly where she’s going with her story, exactly how graphic she’s going to get, and almost feels like throwing up. Jotaro had been pretty oblivious (or annoyed) by the attention, but a little kid like Anne? He’d just seen that as the harmless crush of a brat too young to know better. (Not that that really explained his classmates, but then, they were old enough they should know how to behave.) Taking advantage of a little kid, especially after a scene like that? He’s not a _monster_.

“Johan.” Fitz’s voice, firm and compassionate, is exactly what he needs, matching the hand at his elbow. It’s a warning, too. Alice is trying to goad them into attacking first. Whether she’d just laugh and try to dodge, or whether she’d take it as a sign they were ‘ungrateful guests’ or whatever and attack is a question that doesn’t really need answering.

Jojo simmers down, taking a single step backward. He sees it for what it is now. She’s not lying—not about her heritage, anyway. He can feel it—and maybe he’s wrong, but thus far his instincts have been pretty good since he awakened his Stand. But she very well might be lying about everything else, and in any case, Alice has a carefully crafted show, a dreadful performance calculated to outrage and appall. “You catch many people with that stunt?” He’s channeling Jotaro now, it feels like, but he doesn’t feel remotely prepared for a fight of words like this. Maybe being stoic and trying not to engage is the best way to deal with this.

“Oh, it’s not a stunt. Pixie’s not the only one who likes her little tests, after all.” Rather than Alice in Wonderland, Cooper has all the smug assurance of the Cheshire Cat. “She was mostly keen on saving Darling, her dear little orphan Annie.” Now she’s not even trying to hide. “Doesn’t matter whether you earn a standing ovation or this is your last performance; you’re just a bonus either way.” Money and morality being treated as equal. _Absolutely delightful_ , Jojo’s brain decides with a fair approximation of Giles’ sarcastic voice.

He pats Fitz’s hand in awkward thanks, walking a few steps away and taking a deep breath to calm himself. If he smoked, he’d light a cigarette up—but then, those aren’t his memories, and the man’s been trying to quit, anyway.

It’s why, when there’s a sudden rumble, he’s not within reach of his friend. He turns in time to see his friend’s shocked face, just in time for the wave to catch him with something across the temple. He falls, dazed, and sees Fitz fall, too, bowled over, and above it all, Cooper practically _cackling_ in delight.


	13. Miss Murder Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz tries to fight against the Stand's effects...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter also entitled Reflection I Want to Break.  
> Note to the reader: 250,000 Imperial gallons = about 300,000 US gallons = about 1,100,000 liters

The wave is irresistible. It reminds him of the time he’d gone with his Mum to the ocean, and she’d warned him about riptides. This time, though, there’s no swimming sideways, it’s definitely not water, and it does seem determined to drown him, drag him under and leave him in a watery grave. He hits a wall. Fortunately, the speed isn’t _quite_ quick enough for the impact to have done him serious damage, but it is enough to force the air from his lungs. And then he inhales, and that’s a serious mistake, because the liquid burns his throat, and he starts coughing, which only makes the situation worse since he’s underwater, if such a thing can be said of something that isn’t water. It’s enough to identify the liquid, though.

It’s alcohol. Porter, by the taste of it, and an older variety too, which—now there’s an idea. He’d read about it, since an old gran had mentioned it and it’d invoked his curiosity. The London Beer Flood of 1814. One of the giant wooden vats had burst, leading to the aforementioned beer, about two hundred fifty thousand imperial gallons of it, flooding the brewery and streets. Walls had been knocked down, and eight people died. And—of course. The location of the tragedy. The brewery used to be located where the Dominion Theatre stands now—the very same theatre they are currently within. It makes the fire that had forced them out of their temporary headquarters in the apartment building that had suffered from an arson case in the past make sense as well.

He’s not certain how, and wants to say it’s impossible, but all sorts of ridiculous Stands exist. Why _not_ one that can summon the spectres of tragedies of the past?

He tries to catch on to something, anything along the wall as the current carries him along. The question is, how _does_ one fight a Stand like this? The flood wasn’t stopped. The survivors and company merely picked up the pieces in the aftermath. Unfortunate conclusions about inevitability and fate swirl around his mind, but he shakes that off. He refuses to lay down and die.

He fails to grasp anything, and the flood speeds up as it escapes the narrowed confines of the doorway. He summons LJ—Lotus Juice, that is—and hears it make a soft, distressed chirp as it attempts to keep up with him before the beer pulls him back under. He can probably affect the liquid, since it has water in it, but he’s not sure how that would help. Healing himself, yes. But he’s not that wounded, and he might need to save his strength for something else. In any case, he’s never actually tried to use a water blend, so the effects might be muted or even unpredictable.

His back hits something. It’s a little jarring against his spine, but the current’s stopped carrying him for a bit, and both he and Lotus Juice take the moment as the opportunity it is. Razor-sharp tentacles curl around his belt and haul with frantic strength, digging in and poking him a little. He feels the burn in his arms. His Stand isn’t meant for strength contests of this sort. Fortunately, it’s not acting on its own. He scrambles backwards, because once it pulls him up a step, he realizes that it’s stairs, and while he’s ended up halfway up them already, the currents end, so if he manages to make it onto the landing, he’ll be fine. When he does so and makes it to the landing, with his back against the wall, LJ drops the half-shredded ruins of his belt and nudges him gently with its shell.

“Yes, I’m happy I made it, too,” he mutters to his Stand affectionately, taking a moment—but only a moment—to breathe, throat burning a little from accidentally swallowing the alcohol. It’s impossible to tell, really, whether his head swimming is an effect of ingesting the beer or largely being oxygen deprived during that frantic rush underwater.

But now he needs a plan. He can’t simply swim back. Presumably, if the rules of the Stand work the way he thinks they do, the rush of beer will disappear, but he’s not sure he has that kind of time. Johan had taken that hit with the rock and had fallen. He can’t be certain, but he hadn’t seen Jojo make it to his feet before he’d been taken by the flood, himself. In any case, it had been difficult enough for him to escape the beer’s velocity, and he wasn’t dazed and wounded.

And he makes another connection, tasting the porter on his lips, smelling it on his drenched clothes. Xander had mentioned drunks on his father’s side, and with his sympathy for Darling…

Fitz swallows, trying not to let the disgust and rage overwhelm. Perhaps he’s too close to the matter. Making assumptions about Jojo’s father due to his relationship with his own. But this is hardly the time. They might be allied, or they might not even know anything about Sarde, but he’s not here right now. Alice is. So is Pixie. He should concentrate on one thing at a time.

So, Johan was wounded, possibly drowning, and in an unknown location. In addition, he might be under some psychological distress, depending on the type of drunks present in his father’s side of the family, and due to the wound or mental trauma might not be thinking rationally. Finding him promptly might save his life. It’s likely he couldn’t fight the current, so if Fitz follows that same current, he should find where Jojo washed up.

He swears he can see the skeptical, even judging look on Lotus Juice’s face, and his Stand doesn’t have much of an expression.

“You know it makes sense.” It’s also reckless and could easily end up in them both dying, but he’s not going to let himself think about failure. His life is every bit as important as Johan’s, so they both must make it through this. It’s the only real option. Besides, he can breathe in Lotus Juice’s ‘water’, so he might be able to breathe, now that he can plan and devise a way to prevent him from getting separated from his Stand. LJ can even serve as his ‘eyes’. Surprisingly, one of the water pistols remains tucked into one of his pockets. He secures it further, hoping it’ll be enough, and with a worried chirp, Lotus Juice grabs the front of his belt this time, cradling into his stomach carefully. Hopefully, he’ll be able to serve to shield his Stand from the water’s flow, because he’s under no illusions that the full force of the current would have severed a tentacle or two instantly.

He takes a deep breath and dives back into the flood.


	14. Twisted Sister Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz goes with the flow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter also entitled Come Out and Play.

Almost immediately, he finds himself agreeing with Lotus Juice’s worries. Then again, it’s not surprising, considering the Stand is part of his soul, or whatever weird metaphysical explanation was generally agreed upon by Speedwagon researchers. (He should know the logistics, the understanding and even the controversies, but as much as he’d like to play the academic for the audience of Jojo, he’d really been far more interested in figuring out how his Stand worked and how he could take part in epic adventures at the time. As a child, he’d been a little less concerned about the logistics.) 

But then, it’s not as if they had a choice—how could they just sit around or attempt the slow way when Jojo could be out there dying? Possibly of drowning once again, which was really a bad habit he needed to grow out of, and Fitz could lecture him about healthier habits once he’d found him, safe and whole, and healed him of any injury. Stands might make one more resilient, but they didn’t make one invincible, obviously.

His failed dive makes that pretty clear. Oh, he’d known the theoretical, but there was, after all, a difference between knowing and doing. As much as he’d put on the haughty superiority of the intellectual, he’d forgotten that little detail all too easily. It’s not like he’d practiced much with swimming, much less diving, and it showed. He’d managed to get to Johan before in the shark tank, but that was with Darling’s and his Stand’s help, and he’d forgotten most of the technical aspects. He knew to dive in far enough that he’d clear the current bashing him into the stairwell he’d recently vacated, and had figured that an angle would help him avoid hitting the opposite wall, but he’d neglected to account for the precise acceleration of the water flow and overshot just a little. It was lucky he’d curled up slightly to protect his Stand, and also that he’d had his hands over his head in an approximation of the dives he’d seen on a few series, or he’d have bashed his head, and then what help would he have been?

As it carries him along, he becomes reasonably certain that he’s not imagining things. The flow has definitely decreased, which will be of help. Perhaps escape, and finding his friends, won’t be as hard as he’d feared. Perhaps, if he’s lucky.

He considers trying to find Darling instead. It’s the obvious choice that Jojo would have wanted him to pick. But she’d been able to hold her own, and if Pixie’s Stand activating had been a signal, then she either was fighting back or was possibly already dead. In any case, he hadn’t known where she’d been taken. He can keep an eye out, but his first priority is Jojo.

He feels a slight tug at his belt. It takes him a moment to realize that probably means the direction he’s supposed to go. Unfortunately, he hits another wall first, or what he assumes is a wall. It turns out, painfully, that he’s wrong—it’s already broken glass, and his shoulder takes the brunt of the hit, further facturing what is probably a door and digging some shards into the poor flesh. He’ll be better after healing, but he and Johan are a matching set, now. How very appropriate.

This time, though, it’s not as hard to fight the current, and he manages to surface long enough to cough out the little he swallowed at the pain and gulp in more of that precious air before he’s swept back under. The angle and the push, again, is wrong, but he manages to catch one foot against the side of whatever-it-is and launch himself in the direction LJ indicated.

It becomes easier and easier to follow Lotus Juice’s tugging instructions. Swimming through the alcoholic flood is easier, which is fortunate because he hadn’t really swum much since he was a child. 

So the disaster isn’t _perfectly_ under Pixie’s control. She winds it up and lets it loose, but she doesn’t control it after the fact. If she’d been able to do that, it’d have kept going, a neverending flood based on the tragedy of the past. Instead, it’s just recreating the original, which means there’s a maximum amount of beer—the same amount in the disaster in 1814. They’re getting close to the end, but as helpful as that is for navigation, it also means more time has passed, and that’s dangerous for Jojo.

On the other hand, it comes as a blessing as there’s a sudden violent tugging, strong enough Lotus Juice’s biting tentacles accidentally poke through his shirt, drawing a little blood and making him clench his teeth, nearly tearing through the belt completely. He can barely swim out of the way as something comes at him, swimming against the current. Or…well, if it’s what he thinks it was, it’s not swimming. Not really. It’s a question how ghosts, or whatever they are, can affect the air or a liquid, but that’s a philosophical question for after he survives. 

For now, he can feel how close it came to touching him, and Fitz spares a thought for how grateful he is that it didn’t. He doesn’t particularly want to find out what happens when Twisted Sister gets touches one of its actual targets, because the little he’d seen of the victim playgoers says the answer is not good, and he doesn’t need to discover anything further.

But then there’s something else, another realization that makes his stomach twist with dread, because his next kick hits a solid surface beneath him. He’s finding the extent of the damage, and at the precise wrong time, because he won’t be able to swim, and it’ll be more difficult to wade through the liquid than fighting in simple air. Denying reality won’t get him anywhere, though, so he comes up for air and stands, feeling the wave lap at his legs.

Cooper’s there, perched like a spectral queen on another set of stairs. It appears she’s been bored, because she’s stabbed the dagger through her own hand, watching with fascination as ghostly blood drips into the liquid below. “You took your time,” she remarks without looking up.

He’d tip his hat, but it appears he’s lost it again. “Yes, well, if someone had included directions along with their little invitation…”

She throws her head back in a laugh, letting him see the wounds from her death clearer. Fitz doesn’t look away, though the sight is appalling. When she looks back down at him, the sadistic glee in her eyes says that she wants him dead and isn’t too fussed about the manner that’s achieved. “They say disco is dead, but it’s not. Not yet. Because we haven’t killed it yet, but we will. Just like you.” And then the shadows begin to move.


	15. Twisted Sister Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz faces off against Cooper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter also entitled Can't Stand Still.

If she were here, Josephine would be furious at Cooper’s threat. If he recalls correctly from the stories, she’s a bit of a disco fan. Fitz barely ducks out of the way as a shadow darts at him, ignoring the demented, ghostly laughter that’s probably just meant to unsettle. It’s possible, barely, to dodge, but he can’t keep doing that in this environment, slowed down by the water, especially if several try at once. The only probability why that hasn’t happened yet is that she’s toying with him. At the next shadow darting at him out of the corner of his eye, he goes to one knee, barely ducking under the rush. At least they seem to not be able to predict an enemy’s movement, but then, they don’t seem fully sentient, unlike their ghost master.

“Excuse you, I rather think I’m stayin’ alive.” It doesn’t appear to be an effective enough taunt for Cooper to rush him herself, but she visibly snarls and stops laughing, which is something.

But that weapon—he’s read about it before. Perhaps Johan would tease him about it, but he’d appreciate it, too, even if he didn’t say so out loud. It’s a kris, an Indonesian sacred dagger. It would have been easier to place if it had the wavy blade like most, but then, he’d read that the executioner’s kris usually had a straight blade, and Cooper is the type to self-style herself as an executioner. It still retains the gold and jewel tipped, elaborately carved hilt, and she hadn’t bothered to point the tip at either of them until she’d planned to kill them. She’d pointed it at herself, even drew some of her own ghostly blood, but then, the superstition about dying soon hardly mattered to one who was already dead, and one with a sense of theatricality at that.

It’s possible the shadows are her Stand. But it reminds him more of the stories he’d been told of another Stand User the Joestars have fought, Enya, and her Stand that could make puppets out of the dead and living alike. Cooper seems to be controlling them, in the way one might command a dog to attack, rather than directing a Stand to attack. It might be an Automatic Stand, of course, taking the form of tens of shades mindlessly pursuing a given target, but then, he hadn’t been pursued until he’d seen her again, and if she’d planned on even playing with him along his way, she would have at least had them hound him, nipping at his heels. He’s only heard of one weapon Stand, but if one exists, that means that more probably exist, and kris were rumored to have a soul of some kind within, so it would be the perfect form for a Stand. A connection to death, to a curse…He could be wrong, of course, but he’s fairly certain he’s not.

And then, with a mental snort and an unfortunately slow roll to the side, feeling a wind rushing past him, ripples tracing his close call, he forces himself to be honest with himself, even as he spares a moment to think about how grateful he is that no matter how often he’s dodged, the shadows still don’t appear to have learned that he is capable of evading their attacks. Then again, for most targets, it probably would have been more difficult to do so—having an extra pair of eyes from one’s Stand, with an already established means of communication involving tugging at a currently very destroyed belt, is _extremely_ handy. It’s entirely possible he’s choosing this explanation because he has no idea how to begin fighting a troop of shadows.

In any case, every Stand has a weakness. A weapon that can be taken from its owner would certainly be a weakness. He can attempt that, but in either case, she’s hardly the only one who can use a Stand in this fight.

It’s unfortunate that he’s lost his water gun at some point during the flood, but not altogether unexpected. He’d tucked it into one of his boots discreetly, but that happened to be the boot he’d lost somewhere along the way. Still, this hardly means he’s entirely unarmed. For instance, if he can just get to it, there’s a very welcome source of water indeed, but it’s past another shadow. Another weakness—the fact that the shadows’ movements are accompanied by wind makes it more difficult for them to conceal their attacks well enough for a successful ambush in a location with a liquid that could be disturbed by said winds.

This time, rather than sidestepping or dodging, LJ takes in enough beer to swell slightly, then spews it out like a regular octopus’s ink. It’s odd and kind of beautiful, seeing the droplets sparkle in the light. It actually makes the shadow pause in its rush, and there’s a slight hiss, which is interesting. He’s not sure if it’s actually damage or just a deterrent, but it’s a good sign. It burns a little when it touches his skin, too, blowing back a little, which probably means that watering down the water means, ironically, watering down his powers, but it bought him enough time to slosh over to the fire extinguisher on the wall. He suppresses the smirk. It’s not like he’s won, after all, just gained an advantage. 

Fitz sees something move out of the corner of his eye, again, but the movement appears different than before. It’s…slower. It’s still moving in the shadows, but not because it’s the only option for it. Rather, it looks like it’s trying not to be seen. And—and it’s not trying to hide from _him._ It’s trying to hide from the ghost, based on the angles. With any luck, it might be Johan, or one of their allies—the thief girl, for example. He might as well oblige by trying to keep Cooper’s attention.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a little experiment to determine whether ghosts are affected by acid?” he asks conversationally, and she smirks.


	16. Twisted Sister Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight between Fitz and Cooper continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter also entitled Room Full of Mirrors.

“Ready when you are!” Alice Cooper is so eager to test the hypothesis that she rushes him almost immediately. It’s clear from her movements that she’s proficient at fighting with the kris. In preparation for her attack, Lotus Juice expels another burst of transformed beer. Unlike her shadows, Cooper doesn’t hesitate for a second, passing directly through the sparkling shower of water. She hisses and recoils, snarling in fury. It’s probably the first time anyone’s even hurt her since she died. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees multiple shadows start to rush him at once. They’re still more deterred by Lotus Juice’s acid showers than the ghost, which is probably the only thing that saves him. He can’t afford to step much out of the way of Cooper stabbing furiously, because doing so will put him in the path of a shadow and that’s probably the point. He grunts as she stabs through his upper arm, but it’s a better outcome than ending up like that one unfortunate playgoer.

“Well? Care to share the results?” His voice is slightly off, but then, it’s been quite some time since he’d been on the streets.

“I’d ask about yours, but the data about what happens when someone gets stabbed is well-studied already. Guess you’re useless as a lab rat. Time to put you down.” She digs the dagger around a little in the wound, which hurts, but he sees the distraction for what it is and pushes her away, stumbling back, blood falling from the wound. He’s not quite fast enough, which he’d half expected. A shadow grazes the other side of his arm, and he continues to fall, suddenly incapable of controlling his movements. It feels like he’s paralyzed, but also like electricity’s running up and down his body. Only his brain is still working, and even then, it’s slower. She’d just been playing with him only using a single shadow at once, but the fact that he’d managed to wound her, no matter how permanent such wounds might be, was apparently enough to get her to take the encounter seriously.

“What will you do now?” Cooper’s mocking. He can still barely see, vision greying at the edges, but he can see her self-satisfied smirk. The shadow barely touched him. He can only imagine how it would have been worse if it had actually gone directly through him. Did the victims die on the spot, or is it a slow death?

He fights through the paralyzing feeling and the fatigue. It does seem like it’s slowly wearing off. Probably not fast enough to save him from the next shadow, but he still has hope. “Die, I suppose,” Fitz states dryly. He probably looks every bit the drowned rat he feels. Though hopefully he’s bought enough time for his ally to act. He can’t die yet. He has to save Jojo.

“That’s your big plan? That’s all you can do?” She looks like she’s disappointed, but then, she’s the type that really wants a challenge, and a bloody, agonizing ending. Maybe it’s repressed emotions about her own death, similar to all the stories of vengeful ghosts around the world, taking out their death on anyone nearby, regardless of whether they were related to the death or not. 

The voice that interrupts them seems familiar, but Fitz doesn’t think he’s heard it before. Deep and calm. _“Mind if I interrupt?”_

It’s an effort, but the blond turns his head to see—

That’s Pretender. _So he wasn’t lying about his Stand speaking. Pretender really_ does _talk, and to other people than Johan. Acting on its own is one thing—Captain Beefheart said it had done so after their fight with the Cthulhu statue. But it hadn’t talked to her, supposedly, just wrote a shopping list for her. And if his Stand’s here, then surely he must be somewhere nearby—_ But it’s too difficult to look now, no matter how hard he tries to turn his head. At least LJ’s still out, or he probably wouldn’t even have the power to summon him. Carefully, while Cooper’s attention is turned elsewhere and presumably that of her shadows as well, Lotus Juice uses the water content of the beer to slowly start healing Fitz.

Cooper steps away, losing all interest in him. At least he’d served his purpose. “I assume you’re Jojo’s Stand. Where is the bastard? He’s gotta be somewhere nearby; you’re clearly a short-range power type.”

 _“You like to make a lot of assumptions, don’t you?”_ It’s still…vaguely smug. Definitely Johan’s Stand. _“In any case, he’s out of your reach. You should give more thought to your own situation.”_

Smoothly, Pretender stabs through one of the metallic wraps on his hands, and Fitz gasps, because that looks like the very same kris. He glances at Cooper to verify, and yes, she’s still holding her own. “ _Blood sacrifice. You’re very fond of it, aren’t you, Miss Cooper?”_ Something that looks very similar to human blood drips, but disappears before it touches the water.

“What the hell? How’d you get that?” If she’d looked furious when Fitz managed to hurt her, she now looks slightly scared.

 _“You really should be more careful with your toys, Miss Cooper. Your pets could get restless.”_ The blond’s mind is slowly catching up, and it takes him a moment to wonder how the Stand could possibly get a copy of the dagger before he realizes that makes it certain. The kris _has_ to be her Stand, or Pretender couldn’t use it.

“Give it back!” she screams desperately, starting to run after the Stand, and in response Fitz can see shadows move in between them out of the corner of his eyes. One even goes through him, he’s fairly certain, because he feels both the wind and the cold chill, but it must be a target thing because the paralyzing feeling doesn’t return. She stops moving immediately, eyes darting.

 _“Speaking of experimentation, what happens when your shadows target you?”_ Pretender asks, slightly cruelly, but then, that’s probably a side effect of the mirroring again. He hadn’t really seen much of what happened with the guy who’d made them all forget Johan, but he’d seen a snippet indicating that it was the case, and it made sense that copying a Stand meant copying a mindset, too.

“Nowhere to run,” Fitz agrees, standing up next to Pretender. There’s a hint of relief in the Stand’s eyes, though he doesn’t say anything. LJ gleefully sprays converted acid in an arc, herding the ghost toward her turned shadows.

“I’ll give you this, you’re better than any of those Wolfram & Hart losers by a long shot. No one’s ever pushed me this far. But in the end, I _don’t_ need my Stand to hurt you.” She backs up next to a light switch, getting her back to the wall. He feels a little guilty at the damage, small holes eaten in the walls, which can only have been caused by LJ, but as much as destroying a historical building hurts, dying or losing Johan would hurt worse. “I don’t know if you knew this, but most alcohol doesn’t catch fire right away. It depends on the alcohol content, and this beer doesn’t seem that high in alcohol.”

They’re not planning on setting fire to the place—but that means…

“Pretender, careful!” he yells.

She’s resigned herself to defeat, but she’s determined to take them down with her, even if Pixie might still be in the building. “You exposed some of the wires with your acid attack. Time to make a new tragedy.” She’s not lying—there’s wires sparking right above the light switch. She darts into the wall, turning into a smoky shape like her shadows, and there’s a sudden burst of flame that starts flicking up the wall.


	17. Runaway Transmission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor has revelations for Johan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I warn for series spoilers, I mean it. Specifically, this has clearer Stone Ocean ending spoilers, so I recommend skipping this chapter if you don’t want that. Also, spoilers for the final season of Buffy.  
> ~Dreamer~

“Johan, damn you! Don’t you dare have drowned!”

The words are far away, muffled. Vaguely he feels the heat, hears Fitz splashing around, trying to find him. _Run. Don’t let this become your tomb, too._ Not everything’s on fire, not yet, but it’s a matter of time.

It’s probably not drowning that’s going to get him. He’s not fully under the alcoholic flood, and he hadn’t really thought about it at the time, but he’s not sure if the weird fish-genes ever really went away. (To be fair, he’d been trying not to think about that one.) He’s dazed and kind of pinned, and turning his head made something pop uncomfortably in his spine. Even then, his vision won’t quite focus. Breathing in a rhythm is hard because he keeps losing the beat, which probably says bad things about whatever hit him at the very start of all this. There’s something about the crackling sound and the heat slowly building that something in his brain says is a problem, but he can’t quite concentrate on what it means.

The scary part is, when his mind keeps drifting, sometimes he’s back home, cowering in the corner. At least Spike had been proud enough to assume he was the cause of the fear, because no matter how much he’d been trying to cover it up with bravado, it was probably easy enough to smell or whatever it was that vampires do. It’s a struggle wading through quicksand to remind himself he’s past that, past the boogeyman on the stairs. Enemy Stand Users and vampires and other things that go bump in the dark are so much easier than the horrors at home.

He didn’t think he could see, at first. Gradually a shape comes into view, one he thinks is Pretender at first, but then, he can’t quite tell. Can’t quite feel. Something’s wrong. When it speaks, though, that’s definitely not Pretender’s voice. It’s a woman, or at least it looks like one, from what he can make out. Maybe Pretender can take on different forms? It _is_ a chameleon Stand, after all.

“I’m not Pretender.” That might be what Pretender would say, though. He wants to cough, but can’t, which is probably just as well, given this familiar feeling. A broken rib. Again. He needs to stop doing that, if he survives, that is. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter who you believe me to be, as long as you take my words to heart.” She crouches, putting a hand on his arm, and it’s a sudden warmth against the cold that’s been seeping in. “Did you wonder why you keep nearly drowning?”

He tries to put in the effort to speak, which seems surprisingly hard, even in his own head, but she shakes her head. Oh, right. She’d been reading his thoughts. Which might prove she’s Pretender. Or might prove the opposite. He’s really not sure. Thinking is hard. This is only the second time, unless you count the time when he was on the swim team, which he doesn’t because he didn’t nearly drown and also because it was way before any of this.

“Your near-death experiences, then,” she continues, undeterred. “This is all the ‘curse’ of that priest.” He shivers, absent eye aching. Caleb? He still has nightmares about his eye being poked out. “That priest tried to drown the bloodline in an ocean of stone.” Not Caleb, unless she’s speaking in really, really obscure metaphors. Generally, he’d consider himself a pretty strong student in the school of the metaphor, since lots of the writers of Giles’ various books don’t seem too interested in being clear to prevent future disasters, but he’s also working on reduced brain capacity, here. “He failed, obviously, but he had the will to end the world, and the will to try to restart it. That kind of will can live on after death. He sees the Joestar bloodline as an aberration to be destroyed, a star to be snuffed out. His ‘curse’ is that will, attempting to carry out his last desires.”

He tries to find any of the relevant memories, but there’s a distinct lack of anything relevant. Maybe he doesn’t have it currently downloaded. He’s currently unconscious, so he should be able to access Pretender, but there’s nothing. She smiles and pats his arm.

“Don’t worry, he’s merely tired himself out. You could easily have used your Stand, even unconscious, to save your own hide, but you’ve truly come to care for Fitz, haven’t you? You sought to protect a friend, even if that could potentially cost you your own life. You’re in the space between. You’ll have time to think about my words when you leave. In any case, I’m not sure Pretender will even be able to access those memories. That priest had the means to erase his crime more thoroughly than any bomb. Fortunately for your world and existence, one will is not alone enough to change the weave of fate entirely. He may have gained the power to try to carry out his will, but his ritual was interrupted and he was not the only one with will and power vying for the fate of the world—another held the key to fate in her hands.”

Key—Dawn? She doesn’t confirm or deny his guess, but it feels—it feels like a right answer, but incomplete. One from the old world and one from the new? That feels more correct, even though he’s just stringing words together with no faith in their truth. Instead, she just continues, and though she shows no sign of it in her tone or posture, he suddenly gets the idea that she knows she has a limited amount of time to tell her story and is determined to complete it.

“That priest believed in ‘gravity’. Not the cosmic sort of gravity described by Newton; a more intangible force, the kind that draws together Stand Users, that leads people to follow charismatic leaders. He believed this ‘gravity’ could allow him to rewrite the ending. He didn’t understand that Joestars have their own form of ‘gravity’, because his will allowed him to dismiss them as merely the ‘enemy’.” That’s certainly a slightly unpleasant side effect of Pretender he’s come to notice—déjà vu, over and over. Like now, the description of gravity sounds familiar, but he is certain it’s not him that heard that speech, and when he tries to place it, his head just hurts. Is that part of the ‘memories’ she’s not sure he can access?

Her gaze suddenly pierces his own even as he shivers from chill and fights to keep his eye open. “You’re worried that you are a Pretender, a cuckoo in another bird’s nest. You have no place in House Joestar, do not deserve that star on your neck.” She leans in, whispering the next words. “There’s nothing you can do to alter what has already been done. You have been set on this path. All you must do is walk it. And you worry for nothing about your new family. If he had chosen to alter his own path, even the young fosterling would have been cared for and allowed to grow, but he was taught nothing but hate and theft, thought he had to steal his place from another to have it. The ‘gravity’ of a Joestar is their heart. Joestars love, as vast and deep as the ocean. You think they will have no room for you?” Xander—no, Johan—swallows. He hasn’t dared to think—hasn’t dared to hope. The thought that they will reject him is terrifying, something he hasn’t even dared to admit to himself, but the thought that he will be accepted, that he will be loved—that’s something even more terrifying, because he can’t even quite bring himself to believe it and doesn’t know what to do with it even if he is. “Well, that is one part of their ‘gravity’. The other is their imagination. Joestars dare to dream the impossible, to reach for the stars. Go forth, with that compassion and clarity. Show your heart, without guard or reservation. See what you can be, and venture to become it. Spit in the face of this ‘curse’. Take care of Carter Fitz Speedwagon.” She grins suddenly, wicked and fierce. “And kick their asses.”

A sudden burst of clarity hits him, and a name hits the tip of his tongue, but before he can say anything she starts to fade, like the ghost she probably is. And then he’s interrupted.

The Cheese Man seems to be…cataloguing cheese, in the corner, just like Giles catalogues his books. No wonder he hadn’t seen him. “And eat more cheese.”

No one asked you, Xander manages to think, before he plunges back into the real world, stench and all.


	18. Let Them Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin finds he's already late to the battle.

It’s not that Robin doesn’t understand the appeal of Stands. They look awesome, they can be pretty intimidating if you don’t get how they work (and can get worse when you _do_ ), and they can be the exact perfect tool for the job. A single Stand could take care of an entire army, with the right power, properly applied.

Maybe it makes him boring, but he prefers Hamon. It’s straightforward. No guessing, no roundabout plans within plans. It can look just as flashy, if used by a master, but it’s all direct skill. He’s always been a martial arts fan, even dabbled a little when he was a kid, but he’d mostly been into it so he could defend himself, even unarmed. In high school, a professor had gotten him into the school’s archery club and he just didn’t have the time for both. It all pales in comparison to Sendo, though. Now _there’s_ a style of martial arts that he _loves._ And with the whole archery bit, he’s putting his own unique stamp on it, so it’s not like he’s incapable of creativity. Planning’s all Beefheart’s specialty, anyway, so having a Stand suits her in a way it’d never suit him. He’d been afraid of Panzermensch, and her, at first. Well, maybe less afraid than wary. She’d been friendly enough, but he’d been waiting for her to show her true colors, and she did, just…not the way he’d expected. That incident maybe didn’t make all the tension go away, but it did state pretty clearly exactly where she fell on the whole ‘sympathies with fascists’ thing (quite firmly against, if a little…vigilante-style about it), which meant she wasn’t against his general existence, which definitely made things easier.

His stance on “I don’t need a Stand” is only strengthened by the fact that getting a Stand is very potentially deadly. It’s said the only criteria as to whether or not you stay alive is whether you have a ‘fighting spirit’, which means he’d probably be fine. But he’s not the gambling type, either. A sure thing he can rely on, that’s what he wants, and that’s what he’s got. Why try for anything more, other than honing the tools he already has in his toolkit? (It helps that there’s officially a ‘let’s not stab our employees with Arrows’ policy, so it’s not like it’s even a sanctioned action.)

All of this might make one think that he’s willingly very ignorant of Stands and how they work, but he’s fought in a lot of Stand battles. Often largely because of his partnership with a Stand User, but even then, he’s the spotter. He gets a first-hand view of a lot of the most outlandish things. And a sudden flood coming from the theater he has to rappel up a building to get away from, calling a warning to nearby passersby, is almost _certainly_ some sort of weird, random Stand thing. Unfortunately, the other pedestrians don’t have a way to get out of the way in time, but fortunately they just exclaim in surprise and disgust, trying to get the liquid off their clothes. They seem unharmed. Maybe it’s something to do with Lotus Juice? It doesn’t look like normal water, but perhaps he’d had to bust a sewer line or something this time? Robin wrinkles his nose in disgust, but then, it clearly wouldn’t be Fitz’s first choice either, based on the way he carries himself. If he was going that far, he was desperate, which means it’s a good thing he and Beefheart agreed he should rejoin the others before the investigation was fully complete. They could use another hand. Or a bow.

The cell phone in one of the pedestrian’s hands, though, is a bad sign. It probably means they’re calling the police, and that’s the last thing they need right now, what with Jojo wanted for questioning in the murder case. It’d be easy enough to snipe the phone out of his hands without hurting the man, but that would only buy time, because someone else would do it and add something about a man with a bow shooting at people. Which is definitely something to avoid. No need to escalate the situation. Just get in, get out, and hopefully they’ll be fast enough to not get caught. Even if the cops might not be the Sheriff of Nottingham’s men, they can’t afford a detour like that, not when the Wolfram & Hart Stand Users don’t care about little things like collateral damage. Their employers will step in, but by then, it might already be too late. Better to act now and beg forgiveness later.

At the very least, he can try to minimize visibility, or accurate witness reports. Thus far, Jojo’s the only one who could be placed at the scene of the crime, and therefore the only one currently being sought. The rest of them should retain the relative anonymity and freer rein as much as possible. He pulls up the hood on his beloved sweatshirt, grinning a little and shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the nickname. He really would’ve preferred Hoodie. It would’ve been more accurate, anyway.

Archery demands much the same focus on breathing as Sendo does, which makes applying one to the other child’s play. He focuses on breathing, building the power, just like drawing back the bow, waiting for the release. It’s years of practice that lets him shoot an arrow complete with rope across the gap, securely embedding in the stone with the force of the shot. It’s a pity to mar a historical building like this, but he doesn’t particularly feel like wading through the path below, and it’s not like the Stand battle hasn’t already done damage to the structure. Easy, too, to tie the rope, forming something like a bridge, and cross, arms taking the strain in stride as he moves in time with his breath, dangling. Once he reaches the other side, a precisely aimed Hamon strike causes the knot at the other end to unravel, and he’s pulling up the rope before it even hits the liquid below. A sniff easily tells him what the liquid is, and further clarifies that this was and possibly still is, in fact, a Stand battle, because otherwise he can’t imagine how a theater could have started a flood of beer. It’s quick enough to replace the arrow and rope in his makeshift (i.e. less easy to identify) quiver.

It’s dark, but he doesn’t get much of a chance to examine his surroundings before the eerie singing starts up. If he didn’t know better, he’d say someone was trying a weird badly done Shining remake, from the flood to the creepy little girl. In point of fact, now that he’s thinking about it, he _doesn’t_ know better. It’s not shot-for-shot, to be fair, but it does have horror vibes, and it’s perfectly possible there’s a Stand that can draw off horror movies in some way. Either way, the little girl singing somewhere in the distance has _serious_ horror movie vibes.

“London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down, London bridge is falling down, my fair lady.”


End file.
